From the Earth
by callida88
Summary: In the years after the Battle of Hogwarts many of its young heroes find success, but others just feel lost. Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott fall into the latter category. This is the story of how these two find their way back into each other's lives and end up falling in love...eventually. Lots of other characters appear throughout. Rating might go up with later chapters.
1. A Gut Feeling

Author's Note: Hi there! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story! I've wanted to write this for a really long time and honestly it's nerve-wracking to start putting this out there. I'm not sure how long this will end up being, but I know it'll take quite some time so I hope you want to see these two sweet plant dorks fall in love as much as I do! This first chapter doesn't contain a ton of Hannah but the next will, I promise!

* * *

When he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Neville was still trying to convince himself that excitement was causing the slightly queasy feeling in his stomach. It would be easier if it were that simple. Besides, he tried to assure himself, he _was_ excited. More than a month had gone by since he had last seen his friends and he longed to be with them. The churning feeling persisted, though, refusing to align with the heart-fluttering idea of excitement that he held in his mind.

The pub was packed and uncomfortably warm. Neither of these things were surprising for a Friday night in mid-July, but they still weren't ideal. Of course meeting with his friends in any public place always seemed to be significantly less than ideal to Neville. This time, however, it was the best-case scenario. The Leaky Cauldron was a good central location from everyone's jobs, with Harry and Hermione coming from the Ministry and Ron from Diagon Alley. That's also where Luna was coming from, having been out doing deliveries for the Quibbler. And Ginny had had a full day of meet and greets at Quality Quidditch Supply along with the rest of the Holyhead Harpies. Add in the fact that 12 Grimmauld Place was undergoing a full renovation, Hermione and Ron's flat was still half unpacked, Luna lived in a tiny loft, and Neville still lived with his grandmother and it became clear that the Leaky Cauldron was really their only option.

Neville reminded himself of these facts, plastering a smile on his face. He'd made it towards the tables in the back of the pub and began scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

"Neville! _Neville_ _!_ "

His head whipped towards his name. Between the folded top of a wizard's hat and the wild grey hair of an elderly witch he could just make out the source of the call. Ginny raised her hands, flagging him down to a small corner booth.

Neville made his way over and found that only a few of his friends were there so far. He was met with hugs from Ginny and Luna and a slap on the back from Ron.

"Good that you're here," Ginny said as she slid into the booth. Ron followed suit while Neville and Luna sat in the two chairs that were on the round table's outer edge. "People keep eyeing us like we're committing a crime taking this table with only three people."

Neville grinned, looking back into the crowd where there were indeed a myriad of patrons staring. It seemed more likely to him, though, that they did so not because of the table but rather due to the identities of its occupants.

"I think it is because of the painting behind you," Luna suggested, her soft voice flowing dreamily. "It is rather beautiful."

All eyes went to the painting. It depicted a bored looking Goblin seated at a writing desk who scowled back at them, his eyes narrowing at his audience. When they failed to look away in a timely manner he sighed and picked up his quill, beginning to scrawl something onto the parchment that lay before him.

As they turned away Ron caught Neville's eye. He raised an eyebrow in Luna's direction, but wore a warm, easy smile. Neville shrugged, hoping that his expression somehow matched.

"We ordered already, by the way," Ron said. "Figured it wouldn't hurt with these bloody crowds."

"I guessed on what you'd want," Ginny said.

Neville nodded at them, "Anything would've been fine, and thanks. Can't imagine it'll come anytime soon."

He was about to ask Ginny how her day had gone, how training was, but she was already standing again, an arm raised. She opened her mouth to call out but Ron interrupted.

"Don't," he advised, "You'll start a riot."

Neville turned and looked back into the crowd. He spotted Harry and Hermione weaving through people, both scanning the pub. "I'll get them," he said, rising from his seat.

When Neville was about halfway to them Harry noticed him and grinned, raising a hand in a wave. He turned and said something over his shoulder to Hermione. She then looked in Neville's direction too, smiling just as warmly and making her way to him. Hermione threw her arms around Neville's shoulders, exclaiming, "It's so good to see you! How was Egypt? I can't believe I still haven't been. You have to tell me everything!"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Harry laughed.

Hermione pulled back. She looked Neville up and down quickly and he knew what she was doing. It was all too common for all of them to feel the need to check on each other's physical wellbeing. They were too used to being on the lookout for injuries of all sorts, cuts and bruises that were being ignored. They hadn't needed to for years, but it turned out that wartime habits were hard to kick.

Harry and Neville hugged quickly before the three made their way back to the booth, Neville shouting information to Hermione over the din of conversation that filled the pub.

"Apparently some of the plants can even extract water out of the air if they need to for survival," he told her as they approached the table.

"That's incredible," she said happily.

Ron rose to embrace his girlfriend quickly. "What's incredible?" he asked, stepping aside so Hermione could slide into the booth and sit next to Ginny.

She told him while Harry slid into the booth next to Ginny, who beamed at her boyfriend, pecking his cheek quickly and letting their hands find each other on the table's surface. Neville noticed the glint of the ring on Ginny's finger and reminded himself, _fiancé not boyfriend_. He hadn't seen his friends much since their engagement, and while he was happy for Harry and Ginny the change in terminology was taking some getting used to.

Now that everyone was there conversation swelled. Initially there was talk of Neville's trip to Egypt, with Ginny commenting on how tan his skin was and Luna asking about mummies, but soon that gave way to what everyone else was up to as well. Ginny told them about the meet and greet, confiding that she had tried to hang back after the fifth question about Harry's kissing techniques. Harry groaned in response to that while the rest of the group laughed. Ginny touched Harry's cheek.

"Don't worry," she said, "Some of them also wanted to know how you were in bed."

In an attempt to end that portion of conversation, Harry told them about an investigation that he and a couple other Aurors had just wrapped up.

"Didn't you work on this case before leaving the department?" Harry asked Neville at one point.

It was an innocent enough question, but Neville still felt his gut lurch when he answered. "Err, yeah," he said, "but we didn't get very far with it then."

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. It shouldn't have bothered him to talk about it, he'd left the Aurors by his own choice, something his gran still couldn't believe. But still, it didn't feel good to know that his friend was finishing work that he hadn't been able to complete.

"Neville seems uncomfortable talking about the Auror department," Luna observed pleasantly, "Perhaps we should change the subject."

Neville felt the skin of his face turn hot as soon as Luna spoke. The table fell into an uncomfortable silence.

No more than twenty seconds could have passed before a figure appeared by Neville's shoulder, though it felt much longer.

"Hannah!" Ginny said brightly.

Neville turned to see a sheepish looking Hannah Abbott standing behind him, a tray full of their food and drinks balanced on her hip. Her light blonde hair hung from two pretty twists on either side of her head and her cheeks were slightly pink.

"Hi," she said, her voice quiet compared to the pub's volume. She shifted the tray a bit, as if trying to explain her presence. "Sorry this took so long." Hannah then slipped her wand out of her pocket and began levitating their plates onto the table.

Ginny frowned. "Wait, I want to catch up! I haven't seen you in forever!"

Hannah offered a small smile. "I'm sorry," she said, as the last plate landed and she started in on their drinks, "I'd love to, but I have more tables I have to get to."

Another silence fell. Neville saw Hermione and Ron exchange a look, obviously communicating something to one another silently.

"Well," Harry said, glancing around the table, brow furrowed, "Maybe later? We should be here awhile."

"Um, yeah, of course," Hannah said, but her eyes were on her wand work and refused to meet with those of anyone sitting at the table. Once the final glass had landed she tucked the emptied tray under her arm. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, Hannah," Neville said, but she had already slipped back into the crowd, disappearing just as quickly as she'd arrived.

"That was odd, right?" Ginny asked immediately.

Everyone murmured their agreement.

"She didn't seem to want to talk with us any more than necessary," Luna said, "But she's been quiet for some time now."

"That was more than being quiet," Hermione said. "That was avoiding us."

"It definitely felt like that," Ron added, backing her up.

Harry ran his hand through his messy black hair. "Maybe she has a reason though," he said, "I mean, we probably don't bring back the best memories for her."

Neville and Harry locked eyes. Neville thought back to what was supposed to be their seventh year, when slowly all of his closest friends were taken away from him, at least temporarily. Hannah had been there, working with what was left of the DA to help keep everyone as safe as possible, to fight back for what was right. But even then she hadn't been speaking to him much. Small smiles, helpful tips about some healing charms, relaying information—that was most of it, really. But she'd also been working tirelessly to aid their fight. And all of that was after her mother had been murdered during their sixth year.

"Harry has a point," Neville said.

Ginny glared at both of them. "Don't be so sorry for yourselves," she said, "You aren't the embodiments of everything that was awful about that time."

A grim silence fell at their table.

"So," Ron said after a moment, "Who wants to hear about a failed product test George did today? The story ends with two enlarged thumbs and a few bruised noses."

As Ron spoke Neville could feel his friends' spirits being lifted. And he smiled, glad that they could rally so quickly. Yet he didn't feel it. Everyone else had started eating, but he didn't move. He looked around the table at them, forcing himself to laugh in all the right places, and he saw them as everyone else in that pub must have, even Hannah. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he knew what the feeling in his stomach was, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He was seated at a table of war heroes who had all already launched successful careers. From left to right there was Ron, who was half of the management team for the most successful joke company in existence, Hermione, in her professional-looking, expensive robes, whose work in Kingsley Shacklebolt's cabinet at the Ministry was gaining her more and more attention and acclaim, Ginny, who was already in talks with the national Quidditch team and rumored to be an MVP candidate for her current season with the Harpies, and then Harry. Harry, who had gone straight into work with the Aurors, who hadn't waited like Neville had, or bailed like Neville had. Who was well respected not just because of what he'd done as a child but for the work he'd done since joining the forces of the Auror department as well. Add in Luna, who was making the Quibbler more and more beloved with each issue, and what was Neville compared to this group? An almost twenty-one year old unemployed wizard whose directionless travels were being financed by his great-uncle?

Shame and embarrassment pooled in the pit of his stomach.

He was happy to see his friends, really, but who his friends were was a continual reminder of what he wasn't. And after all of these years, that was still more than a little unsettling.

* * *

So, there it is, I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again for reading! Comments are always welcome and very appreciated! A Hannah-centric chapter is coming your way soon.


	2. Separation

Author's Note: Here we go, chapter 2! And lots of Hannah! Thank you so much for reading this story, I hope you like it!

* * *

Hannah couldn't get back behind the bar fast enough. She was mentally kicking herself. _You idiot_ , she thought, _they were your friends, they were trying to still be your friends_. She lay her empty tray down, turning so that she was staring at Tom where he stood at the other end of the bar.

"I'm taking my break now," she called to him.

He nodded, his bald head gleaming under lantern light, and waved her off.

Brilliant, now she would have forty minutes to herself. Now, she was ashamed to admit even inside of her own head, she could go hide. She checked her watch to make sure of when she'd need to be back and then ducked into the kitchen, hoping that there would be some food to grab quickly.

"Hi Hephesta," she sung out over the loud radio, which at present was playing an old standard of Celestina Warbeck's.

Hephesta was the main cook for the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah wasn't sure how long the old witch had been there, but she was certain it had been at least the length of her lifetime and probably closer to that of her grandmother's. When she didn't look up from the stove Hannah called out again, louder this time. Apparently decades of working in a kitchen, of large pots and pans banging into the metal stovetop and sliding in and out of ovens, could really do a number on your hearing. Also, she really was rather old.

When Hephesta looked up her gaze didn't land on Hannah, but rather past her. She grabbed her wand out of an apron pocket and jabbed it at something over Hannah's shoulder. The younger witch ducked out of the way just in time, as a large mixing bowl full of something that smelled both sweet and tangy flew through the kitchen air towards the workspace next to the stove.

"Oh!" Hephesta said with some surprise as the metal bowl landed with a _clank_. "I didn't see you dearie. You really ought to announce yourself when you come in here, you know."

Hannah grinned, "I'll try to remember that."

"What can I do for you?" Hephesta said, then a dark look came over her face. "Did someone complain about the food?"

Hephesta was very proud of her work, and Hannah knew that her ego was fairly fragile. "No," Hannah said quickly, "Of course not."

The cook nodded, looking assured. She tapped her wand on the stove and the flame beneath a large pot shrunk slightly.

"I was actually wondering," Hannah continued, her hands pushing hair behind each ear, "If anything had been sent back earlier?" She paused before adding guiltily, "It's my dinner break."

"Over there," Hephesta answered. She pointed at a counter near the door. There sat a sandwich that looked blackened. "They asked for crispy bread and then got upset with it, can you imagine?"

Hannah smiled. She retrieved the sandwich for herself and yelled, "Thank you!" She also snatched a bottle of pumpkin juice before slipping out of the kitchen door.

Once back out she made her way to the stairs with her head down, determined not to get sidetracked or asked for any sort of service by one of the patrons who might recognize her. It would have been easier to just apparate, of course, but she still felt a bit unnerved from seeing her former classmates and wasn't sure she could stomach it.

It was part of the deal she'd made with Tom when she started working at the Leaky Cauldron that she could live in one of the rooms upstairs as long as she needed to. A year later, and it was still the best option she knew of. Susan had suggested that they could get an apartment together someday soon, but Hannah had found that she actually really liked living alone. Maybe it was because of sharing a dorm room for so long, or the complete lack of privacy they had living in the Room of Requirement during that horrid seventh year. She wasn't sure, but it wasn't a subject that she felt the need to dwell on either.

Once on the third floor Hannah put the pumpkin juice under her arm and opened the door with her freed hand. Her a-bit-more-than-slightly-messy room greeted her. It had all of the features that the guests' rooms had: four poster bed, fireplace, wardrobe, tiny table by the window, mirror that sometimes squawked at her if her appearance wasn't wholly satisfactory. Her gaze landed on the table as she shut the door with her foot. It was covered fairly well by many half-done things that Hannah had only put half of her heart into. There was an embroidery hoop with a scrap of fabric stretched inside of it, only a few stitches done, there was a small palette of watercolor paints, and there were two books that had been half read. A sigh escaped Hannah as she looked at it, meanwhile a sense of heaviness settled into her bones. She felt very, very tired suddenly.

So she went to her bed. The bed was the brightest spot in the whole room thanks to the yellow crocheted blanket that was spread neatly at its foot. Hannah's mum had made it for her during her first year at Hogwarts. Back then it had served as some sort of assurance that, despite both of Hannah's parents having been in Ravenclaw, Norah Abbott was pleased with where her daughter had been sorted—or at least that's how Hannah had seen it at the time. Whether not that effect had been intentional she'd never know. Besides, she'd never thought that being in Hufflepuff made her any lesser, no matter what the prats in some of the other houses might have said, it had been her granddad's house, and her cousin's after all. Regardless of any of that, present-day Hannah was careful to make sure that she kept her food away from that handmade blanket, lest crumbs or something else reach it.

She checked her watch again. Thirty-one minutes of break to go. She set about eating, snatching an old copy of _Witch Weekly_ off of her nightstand to flip through as she did so. Of course it was all drivel, but sometimes that meant a pleasant break from the realities of everyday life and the less-than-savory thoughts that can flood one's mind in vulnerable times. Times like the ones that Hannah was having that night, and frankly had been having on and off for about five years. She was several paragraphs deep into an article about which Quidditch team's uniforms were cutest—apparently not the Harpies, Hannah noted, her mind going back to Ginny downstairs—when there was a sudden rapping on her window.

Rapping perhaps wasn't the best term. It was more of a dull _tink_ sound as the owl outside pecked at the glass to gain her attention. She rose quickly, crossing to the window.

"In you come," she said as the bird, a sturdy looking Barn Owl, swooped about. He perched on the back of the chair that sat at her small table. Hannah ripped off a piece of burnt bread from her sandwich and fed it to him when she took the letter he carried. She pulled out her wand and sliced the envelope open, noting that her name appeared on it in the neat print of her friend Susan Bones.

 _Dearest Hannah,_

 _Reminder that we're getting breakfast together tomorrow. Don't you dare try to back out again. I know your schedule and you don't work Saturday mornings. Besides, I'm coming to pick you up at the Leaky so even if I have to drag you out you're coming._

 _In all seriousness, though, I'm worried. We'll talk about it more tomorrow but I saw Justin today and he said he hasn't heard from you in a month. You can't just disappear on us all you know. You've already tried that, haven't you?_

 _Anyway, I'm planning to arrive around 9, and I'm looking forward to our morning together!_

 _Love, Susan_

Hannah's cheeks burned a little after reading through the letter. There was nothing untrue about it, not even anything unwarranted. Still, it stung a little to be called out like that. She knew Susan well enough to understand that this was just one of the ways she expressed kindness, by looking out for what's best. And Hannah did have a tendency to sort of disappear on her friends, as noted by what had happened downstairs before her break. Although, she reminded herself, there was nothing wrong with a healthy amount of separation.

The owl hooted softly and Hannah gave him another piece of her sandwich's bread. She dug through the clutter on her table until she'd assembled a small piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. She jotted her reply down quickly, her loopy scrawl looking a bit frantic.

 _Susan,_

 _You know, dragging me out of bed might be a real possibility—I'm working a double shift tonight. But I'll try to be wide awake and adequately dressed by the time you get here. And I know you have things you want to talk about, but I'll give you a tidbit as well: the DA's finest are here tonight. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna all at a table in the back as if that means they won't be noticed by the public. I'll have you know, the front of the pub is looking rather lonely tonight. Everyone's trying to catch glimpses._

 _I'm also looking forward to our morning together. Maybe we can even stretch it into the afternoon? See you soon!_

 _Love, Hannah_

She gave the bird another bit of bread before sending him off with the reply. Finally starting in on her meal again, she checked her watch: sixteen minutes left.

The pub was even busier after Hannah's break ended. However the crowd inside of it had shifted a bit, as the time for meals had mostly passed. Now everyone was there for drinks. Hannah was stationed behind the bar, and anticipated being there for the rest of the night. That was something she didn't mind. In fact, her favorite times working at the pub were when she was behind the bar. Back there she was safely separated from the bustling world of the patrons and, instead, existed in a world that was just herself and sometimes Tom or one of the other servers. She was close enough to know what was happening outside of that little bubble, but not so close as to be drawn into it. There, she could move quickly in a way that felt natural to her, methodically fulfilling orders and keeping the place running. It felt like honest work, and it felt good.

She was passing two flagons of a dark ale to a wizard in his twenties with unfortunate looking facial hair when Neville emerged down the bar. Hannah regarded him out of the corner of her eye as she mopped up a spill on the pine bar's old, worn surface that, frankly, was due to be refinished. She was struck by how out-of-place he seemed there. He wasn't from this version of her life, he was from a life that she thought she'd mostly left behind, save for a few lingering connections like Susan. He also looked like he _felt_ out-of-place there. His tall frame was slouched, as if trying to blend in with those who stood around him, and his eyes scanned around the area behind the bar until they landed on her. He offered a small smile.

Hannah walked down to stand across from him, attempting to match his expression with her own. "What can I get you?"

His smile wavered, as if he'd expected a different response to his presence. "Uh, hi," he said before quickly moving on to give the response her statement had demanded. "Six ales please."

"Dark or pale?" Hannah asked, reaching below the bar to start pulling out the glasses she'd need.

"Pale," he answered.

She nodded. As she started to fill the first glass from the tap she told him, "You can go back to your table. I'll bring these over."

He looked taken aback. "Oh, um…" his eyes shifted from her face to the crowd and back again. "Would you mind if I actually stayed for a minute?"

The words had tumbled out of his mouth so quickly that she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly at first. But when they clicked in her mind, Hannah was the one who felt taken aback, realizing how rude and dismissive her words had probably sounded. "Of course," she said quickly, beginning to fill the second glass.

She was onto the third before he said anything.

"So," Neville said, his voice so tentative that she had to strain to hear him over the crowd. "How are you?"

"Good," she said automatically. Her eyes met his, "You?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm good too."

She gave a small smile, "Good."

 _You idiot_ , her mind yelled at her as she started the fourth glass, _that was the lamest response you could've said_.

Hannah took a deep breath and tried again. "It's nice of you to come order for everyone."

Neville shrugged one shoulder. "I don't attract attention the way they do."

Hannah glanced down the bar, where two pretty witches had been staring at him since he'd arrived. "Sure," she laughed softly.

She saw his cheeks go slightly pink as Neville's hands fidgeted on the bar's surface. It was endearing, to see him act so much like the Neville she had known before. That is, before everything in their lives had been turned upside down. Even after the war was over, and they'd been two of the students who chose to return to Hogwarts for a final year, he hadn't been like this. Or maybe he had been and she just hadn't noticed, so wrapped up in all of the overwhelming feelings she had walking through that castle each day.

The fifth glass was nearly full when Neville asked, "How much is this?"

Hannah was so caught up in her thoughts that it took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. "Oh," she said, realization hitting. She was about to answer, to say that it was twelve Sickles, when she stopped herself. "It's on the house." After how she'd treated them earlier, she reasoned, it wouldn't hurt to reach out a little.

Neville frowned, "Won't Tom—"

"I can give my friends drinks if I please," she said. Then, when the bareness of her words started to make her face feel warm, Hannah added, "Besides, Tom would give you lot free drinks anyway."

Neville smiled, laughing slightly. "If you're sure."

"I am," she said, topping off the final glass. She set it down on the tray that held the other five and began to lift it.

"I can take it," Neville said.

She frowned at him, "Neville, that's very nice, but it's my job and—"

" _Oi!_ " A voice yelled from up the bar.

They both looked over and found a middle-aged wizard holding out his hand, his face twisted into a grimace.

Hannah turned to Neville, "I guess if you're sure."

He smiled at her, "I am." He pulled out his wand and started levitating the tray so that it would go over the heads of other guests. He started to walk away, but paused. He turned back to her. "You know, you should come—"

" _Can I get some service!_ " The man called out.

"I'm sorry," Hannah said. "I'll…see you around."

"Yeah," Neville said, holding her gaze for another moment before turning to walk into the crowd.

Hannah wasn't sure why, but she didn't rush to the new customer. Instead, she watched Neville's head as it bobbed through the crowd. When that had disappeared she did get back to work, but still looked out and followed the tray.

When that disappeared, it felt like her stomach had flipped.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews and suggestions are always very appreciated and welcome!


	3. Plans

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! And special thanks to those of you who have followed this story! I know this pairing doesn't have the broadest appeal so your support means the world to me.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, Neville was sure of three things:

1\. He needed to figure out a direction in his life.

2\. Something had happened between himself and Hannah Abbott.

3\. His Mimbulus mimbletonia was dying.

Well, to be more exact, his original Mimbulus mimbletonia, the one given to him by his uncle back when he was fifteen, was dying. He had bred four others from that original and another that he'd received following the war, but they were all doing fine. Meanwhile the original's boils were slightly shriveled in comparison to their regular swollen state and rather than the crooning noise it usually made when stroked it was emitting an odd whine. Neville moved it away from the others, just in case it was something contagious, and then he turned to his small collection of books on Herbology to figure out what was happening. He went to the one that was specifically about desert plants first. It told him that Mimbulus mimbletonia should be able to live for decades when properly cared for and, when they were old enough to die, would quietly begin to shrink, their boils disappearing, not shriveling. So something was definitely wrong, but Neville still had no idea what.

He was about to consult another book when he heard his grandmother shouting from down the hall.

"Neville!" Augusta Longbottom yelled, her voice stern as usual. "Could I speak with you, please?"

It wasn't until he reached the bottom of the stairs that Neville realized he was still in his pajamas. That was one of Gran's pet-peeves, but a lack of adequate haste was another, so he supposed he'd just have to live with whatever consequence there was. He made his way to the elaborately decorated dining room where he found his grandmother sitting at the head of the table, a cup of tea, toast, and a diary before her. The table also had a place setting for him, with its own toast and jam. Sure enough, she frowned at his appearance as he walked in, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"Good morning, Gran," he said.

She nodded, looking down at her diary. "I'm planning out the next few weeks. Will I be responsible for any plants during that time?"

That was her way of asking if Neville would be traveling. "No," he answered, "I don't have anything planned…" He had meant to say _for now_ but those words were swallowed by the deep, existential worry that he'd finally identified in himself the night before.

"Hm." That was all Gran said.

"Actually, speaking of plants," Neville said, taking a seat finally. "Did you notice anything odd about mine while I was away? The Mimbulus mimbletonia that Uncle Algie got me is acting strange."

Augusta frowned, her gaze going back to her grandson. "No, I did not. I would have told you if I had."

Neville nodded, "Alright, sorry, I just thought I'd ask. It's the strangest thing because supposedly if it were dying it would—"

"Speaking of your great-uncle," Gran said. Her eyes softened a bit when she saw her grandson's surprise at being cut off. A decidedly less stern tone emerged when she asked, "Do you know if he's planning a summer trip for himself? He and Enid usually go somewhere about this time, don't they? Perhaps they'd like some company this year."

Neville merely shrugged.

Gran sipped her tea. "You should eat something," she advised.

He dutifully spread jam on his toast and took a bite.

There was still a charged feeling to the air, despite his grandmother's efforts. Neville didn't blame her though. He wasn't exactly doing what she wanted, he wasn't making it easy for her. She'd been so proud when he'd joined the Aurors. "Just like your father," she had said, beaming at him when he told her. And she was still proud of him, he was sure—nothing would ever take away what he'd done during the war. Yet he also couldn't shake the image of her when he left the department, when he quit. Her face had read nothing but disappointment, from her deep-set frown to the crease between her eyebrows. She hadn't said it, but he knew it had to be in her mind somewhere. _That was good enough for your parents. Why isn't it good enough for you? Or maybe you're just not good enough for it after all?_ Logically, Neville understood that it wasn't fair to assume Gran had had those thoughts, but emotionally? He didn't see how she couldn't have.

Presently, Neville was almost finished with his toast and neither of them had said anything else.

He rose, ready to take his plate into the kitchen, but stopped at his grandmother's question.

"What would you like to do for your birthday?"

Neville shrugged. "Family dinner, the usual."

Gran frowned. "You don't want to invite your friends over?"

He shook his head, "There'll probably be something for Harry's birthday so I'll see everyone then. You don't need to go to the trouble of—"

"It's no trouble to celebrate my grandson," Augusta said.

Neville smiled, his cheeks feeling warm from the sentiment. He said, "Honestly Gran, I'd rather just have the time to see family."

She relented, and he went back upstairs to figure out what was happening with his plants.

He was halfway through reading an old newspaper article about plant diseases that he had saved when a large, silver creature burst noiselessly into his room through the ceiling. Neville ducked and covered his head, as if pieces of the roof would fall on it, but realized how foolish that was when he looked up to discover Ginny's mare patronus staring at him.

"Hello, Neville!" the horse said in Ginny's cheerful voice. "Harry and I were wondering if you could pop by the Burrow this afternoon? We're babysitting Teddy today but there's something we need to talk to you about. Let us know if you can't make it today, but if you can don't worry about responding, just come by!"

Having delivered its message, the mare disappeared noiselessly.

Neville sighed, but figured it was a comfort that he at least knew what he'd be doing for that afternoon considering that was about as far as his plans stretched at the moment.

Neville apparated to the Burrow just after 1:00. He had spent the rest of the morning searching for answers about his Mimbulus mimbletonia but was still left empty handed. After having lunch with Gran he'd decided that that was enough research for the day and that he should go see Harry and Ginny before the afternoon was over.

He arrived just outside of the front gate, and enjoyed the short walk to their front door. The door was open, but he knocked anyway.

"Come in!" a cheery voice that Neville recognized as Mrs. Weasley's called from inside.

In the past few years Neville had been to the Burrow several times, but it never stopped amazing him that nine people had lived in a house that was half the size of his grandmother's. He felt a small amount of shame welling up inside him, that he'd grown up with so much while Ginny and Ron had had so little.

He found Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. She smiled warmly at him and he was reminded that they had also had some things he never would.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," he said.

"Neville, dear, how are you? How is your grandmother?" She enveloped him in a warm hug.

"Oh, I'm fine," he said, adding as she released him, "And Gran's great."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley enthused. "And it's great that you've come by, we have so much planning to do! I was wondering, would next Sunday work for you to come to Madam Malkin's with us? I know it's short notice but with the date change—"

"Mum!" Ginny shouted, coming down the stairs in an oversized Gryffindor t-shirt that looked like it must have been Harry's. "We haven't told him yet."

Mrs. Weasley's face went as red as her hair. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't think I said anything too revealing."

Neville shook his head. He assured Ginny, "I have no idea what's going on."

Ginny smiled. "Alright, well Harry and Teddy are out back."

She started to lead him towards the back door when Mrs. Weasley said, "Lovely seeing you, Neville."

"You too Mrs. Weasley!" He called back, following Ginny outside.

"I was just upstairs changing," Ginny said. "Teddy spilled his juice all over me, but luckily Harry still has some old clothes here."

"Do you not?" Neville asked.

Ginny laughed softly, "Yeah, of course I do. But I like wearing his."

"I didn't need to know that, Gin," Neville said. Considering how private they were to the public, he felt that his friends told him far too much about their relationships.

Ginny snorted, laughing in response.

They found Harry in the middle of the yard, but Teddy wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Lost him already?" Ginny said, but she sounded amused rather than concerned.

Harry, who was smiling widely merely pointed to the outskirts of the yard, near the tree-line. Then he noticed Neville's arrival and said, "Hey, glad you could make it today."

"Me too," Neville said, "I'm very eager to find out what's going on."

Harry and Ginny gave each other conspiratorial smiles before turning their attention back to Harry's godson.

Neville followed their gaze and saw the toddler riding on a miniature broomstick that flew a few feet off the ground. It looked like he was going around the perimeter of the yard with an impressive amount of speed. It was enough to cause his hair—which was currently the same dark green that the Holyhead Harpies wore—to be blown back. Neville was very impressed, considering he was only three years old. A warmth spread in Neville's chest as he thought about Teddy's parents; he'd never forget how kind Remus had been to him in his time as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, nor could he ever undervalue the work that both Remus and Tonks had done in the fight against Voldemort.

After a minute of watching Teddy, Ginny turned to Neville and said, "Remember how I had been talking to the national Quidditch team? And it was possible that I could be on the team for the World Cup next year?"

"Yeah?" Neville asked, already smiling.

"Well, they sent me a letter last night after we got home from dinner. It officially asked me to join the team!"

"That's amazing!" Neville said, sweeping Ginny up into a hug.

Ginny laughed, "I know!" She ran a hand through her hair and turned to Harry. "You tell him the next part."

Harry grinned, "Okay."

"There's more?" Neville asked.

"Ginny and I had been planning on having our wedding next summer," Harry said, "But now with the Cup we need to move it up."

"And training starts in February," Ginny added.

"So we're getting married in November. Early November, the fourth. It's a Sunday."

Neville was slightly shocked. He was still adjusting to them being engaged, and now they were getting _married_. Not that it was that big of a deal really, he knew that they were meant to be with each other, everyone knew that, but it was still such a big thing to do. Such an _adul_ _t_ thing to do. And they were doing it in four months. "That's only four months from now," Neville said before he could stop himself.

Harry and Ginny laughed.

"Less than," Harry said.

"As my mother won't stop reminding us," Ginny added.

"Wow." Neville said. Then he added quickly, "That's great, though! Right?" He was still confused as to why he'd needed to come to the Burrow to find this out. Surely it was information that could have been sent with the patronus? Or even just in a letter? He was glad to see them, but things just weren't adding up.

"There's something else," Ginny said at the same time that Harry yelled, "Careful Teddy!"

Neville looked over and saw that the toddler had somehow gained even more speed.

"Hold on a second," Harry said, before jogging after Teddy, who wasn't slowing down at all.

Ginny shook her head, smiling absentmindedly.

Neville watched her watching her soon-to-be-husband and tried to quell the slight feeling of jealousy that had arisen. He wasn't jealous because of their relationship—he'd never seen Ginny that way—but rather for the fact that they both had a stable relationship at all, not to mention their professional endeavors that were skyrocketing with success. It was similar to what he'd felt the night before, yet sharper somehow.

Harry returned with the small broom thrown over one shoulder and his godson over the other.

"Okay, where were we?" Harry asked over Teddy's giggling.

"You were about to ask Neville something important," Ginny said, grinning broadly as she took Teddy from Harry, holding him on her hip.

"Oh, right," Harry said. He smiled at Neville. "I—"

Ginny cleared her throat, giving Harry a stern look that made Teddy laugh loudly.

"Er, _we_ , wanted to know, would you be one of my groomsmen?" Harry asked.

Neville felt his face turn red. It seemed like too much, too big of an honor for him. But, looking at Harry and Ginny's happy, hopeful faces, he couldn't bring himself to voice that doubt. "Of course," he said.

Now, Neville supposed, his plans stretched on for a while longer at least.

* * *

Note: It might take me a little while longer to get chapter 4 up. I'm going out of town for a few days so I won't be able to write but hopefully I'll be able to get it to you soon! Thanks again for reading! Reviews, comments, and suggestions are always welcome and very appreciated!


	4. Pastries and Preoccupations

Author's Note: Hello! Thank you so much for making it to chapter 4! I'd like to give a huge thank you to those who have reviewed and everyone who has alerts turned on for this story. Your support means everything to me!

* * *

That same morning, Hannah woke to a sharp pain in her right shoulder. As she came to, her eyes adjusting to the bright light that spilled in through her windows, she realized that it was because at some point in the night she'd tossed and turned enough that her arm had been pinned down underneath her chest in an uncomfortable bend. She used her left hand to push herself up, slowly moving her shoulder so that her arm could return to a normal position. A gasp escaped her as she moved and her muscles objected to the stress that they had been under.

The sheets and blankets had been twisted around her body or, in the case of her yellow blanket, thrown completely off the bed. She didn't bother to make it, though, instead getting up and moving to the table, where she'd left her watch the night before. It was already 8:22.

"Fuck," she said quietly. Only thirty-eight minutes until Susan would be there.

Hannah tossed the yellow blanket back onto the bed and then made her way to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, eager to rid herself of the stale taste of sleep. A chill shook her spine as she stepped into the shower and thoughts of her dream from the night before drifted into her consciousness. She scrubbed at her body with the warm water and tried to push them back out.

Her hair was dried and she was mostly dressed when three quick knocks announced Susan's arrival at the door.

"Don't kill me," Hannah said as she pulled the door open, one sock on and the other in her hand.

"I wasn't planning to," Susan said, stepping over the threshold with an easy smile on her face. "I know we work on different schedules now."

Hannah laughed. "That's one way to put it."

"Thought it was nicer than saying, 'I know it's hard for you to get out of bed before noon,'" Susan countered. She moved in front of the mirror, her long dark plait swinging over her shoulder.

"Lovely," the mirror gushed with its wheezy voice.

"Thank you," Susan said.

Hannah sighed. She took in her friend's easy elegance, from her hair to her sundress to her sandals and satchel. Susan was the picture of grace for a hot July afternoon, and Hannah wished it were that easy for her. Instead, she tucked her shirt into her shorts and pulled on her shoes. She moved next to her friend to take a look at her hair in the mirror and was met with the sight of her blonde locks lying in a state of utter flatness.

"Best to just put it up, dearie," the mirror advised.

Hannah agreed, and set to work piling her hair on top of her head. As she did so her mind went to the elegant twist her mother used to put her own hair into at the base of her neck, a look that Hannah had attempted to recreate both with and without magic but always failed at.

" _Hannah?_ " Susan said, her voice raised ever so slightly.

It shook Hannah out of her thoughts, and she looked back at her friend where she had moved to sit on the foot of the bed. "Sorry," she said.

Susan shook her head slightly, but Hannah knew she understood, sometimes going into the same sort of reveries herself. Hannah had lost her mom, but Susan's family had lost almost everyone. "It's alright," Susan said, but her eyes were wide as they gazed between her friend, the messy bed, and the cluttered table. "When do you start your shift today?"

"I thought you knew my schedule," Hannah joked lightly before answering, "Four."

Susan made a soft noise of recognition, but was still glancing around the room.

Hannah turned back to the mirror, finishing up her hair, but saw that the results were less than satisfactory.

"Just do a ponytail," the mirror said.

"Okay," Hannah agreed, letting her hair down and taking an elastic from the top of the dresser.

"Are you still having nightmares?" Susan asked.

The question hung in the air. Hannah didn't say anything at first, just focusing on her hair. The answer she knew she had to give, the truthful one, seemed so simple, just one affirmative word. But there was more simmering underneath it that Susan would dig into, things that Hannah wasn't sure she could stand to look at. Susan wanted to unearth the skeletons. Hannah wanted them to continue sleeping and just wished they'd return the favor.

Apparently vocalizing the word wasn't necessary, though. Susan took Hannah's pause to mean the same thing.

"I do too, you know," she said. Her hand reached out to pat the yellow blanket, so familiar to her from the years in their shared Hufflepuff dormitory. "On occasion, anyway."

Hannah pulled her hair through the elastic a final time and then set to work trying to soften the look, pulling out wispy hairs. She was being silly, not responding. It was fair, nice even, for Susan to be asking these things, attempting to look out for her friend. But Hannah's stomach churned when she thought about it too much, and this was definitely too much.

Susan stood and crossed to stand next to Hannah. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"You're disappearing on me again," Susan said.

"I'm not trying to," Hannah said. Her voice came out quieter than she had thought it would.

"Good." Susan turned to Hannah, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Now let's go get some food."

Hannah nodded.

They went to one of the cafés in Diagon Alley, sitting under a cheery pink umbrella outside. A shared plate stacked tall with pastries lay on the table between them. Susan sipped on tea while Hannah stirred cream into her coffee.

"So are you ever going to tell me about last night?" Susan asked before biting into a cherry-filled pastry that was covered in powdered sugar.

Hannah smiled. "There really isn't much to tell."

"Six of the most famous people in the entire wizarding world show up at the inn where you work and you have no stories?" Susan said, her eyebrows raised.

"Is that how we refer to our former classmates now?" Hannah asked, laughing lightly. She picked at a pastry that was filled with chocolate. Her eyes were fixed on the flower pattern that had been seared into its flaky crust, no doubt by some clever wand-work. Neville's words drifted into her mind, his suggestion that he wasn't famous—if only he could hear Susan now. She smiled absentmindedly.

Susan pointed at Hannah accusatorially, "That smile says something happened!"

Hannah shook her head and took a large bite out of the chocolate pastry, flaky bits of crust falling to the table in front of her.

"You'll swallow that eventually and then you'll have to talk," Susan said, eyes narrowed.

"Honestly," Hannah said, "Nothing happened. They had dinner and then some drinks. I didn't even see them leave."

"Was it like a triple date or something?" Susan asked. "You know Harry and Ginny got engaged, right?"

Hannah frowned at her friend. "Please tell me you're not reading those horrible gossip articles about them."

Susan rolled her eyes, "Of course not. I ran into Hermione at work a few weeks ago and she mentioned something about their engagement party." She sipped her tea before adding on, "And by the way, let's not forget that you're the one with a subscription to _Witch Weekly_."

"Not for that sort of thing!" Hannah insisted. Her voice sounded slightly indignant, but they were both laughing.

"Are Neville and Luna still dating?" Susan pressed. She had moved on to a blueberry tart.

Hannah shrugged. She thought back on the night before, when she'd approached their table. Sure, Neville and Luna had been sitting together, but that didn't mean they were dating. And besides, had they ever really been _dating_? During that weird eighth year at Hogwarts she knew that they had been together in some sense, she'd seen them kissing a couple of times around the grounds, but was that dating exactly? "I don't want to gossip," Hannah finally said.

"It's not gossiping, per se," Susan said. She frowned, and Hannah knew that her friend was trying to convince herself of that.

"Didn't we ask for these to be toasted?" Hannah asked, holding up one of two pecan braids they'd gotten. Susan nodded and Hannah pulled out her wand to begin toasting them herself.

Susan drained the last of her tea. She said, "Can you imagine getting married right now? Being so sure about your life already? And Ginny's a year younger than us!" Susan sighed, "It must be nice for them all, to have things fall together so perfectly."

Hannah regarded her friend with a soft smile, "I doubt everything's perfect for them." Her thoughts drifted back to when Neville had asked to stay with her at the bar for a moment, to him looking so out of sorts. To the moment her stomach had flipped.

Susan let out a small shriek.

"What?" Hannah asked, but she saw what. As her mind had drifted she'd accidentally set one of the pastries on fire. "Shoot," she muttered, putting it out quickly. She looked down at the slightly singed pecan braid, sitting next to its nicely toasted double. "I'll take that one," she promised.

Susan shook her head, "Where did your mind just go?"

Hannah faltered for a moment, not sure if she wanted to tell the truth. Her exchange with Neville, for whatever reason, felt private and somehow personal. In the end she merely shrugged and said, "Sorry, I just…spaced out."

Susan frowned, but it wasn't at Hannah exactly, and Hannah knew as much. It was one of more concern, of more compassionate worrying and care.

She really needed to not disappear again, her friends didn't deserve that sort of treatment.

"What should we do after we're done here?" she asked. When Susan merely continued frowning Hannah pressed, "We could go shopping for clothes at the muggle shops. I need a dress like yours, I don't have any nice ones that are still casual."

Now Susan smiled. "Okay," she said, "I want to get some new shorts too."

Hannah smiled back.

* * *

"I never knew being an aide for the Wizengamot would involve so much running," Hannah said, laughing at the story Susan had just finished telling her.

"Me either," Susan said. "If I had maybe I wouldn't have taken the job."

They were trudging up the stairs to Hannah's room, both with shopping bags in hand. It was still a little while before Hannah's shift started, and they were going to grab a bite downstairs after dropping off the morning's spoils.

Hannah opened her door and found that the room had gotten very stuffy in the time that she'd been gone, as it filled with morning sun. Hannah set her bags down and moved to the window, opening it in the hopes of letting some of the hot air drift out with the breeze. Susan sat on the still unmade bed, her bags by her feet.

"I'll make that if you—" Hannah stopped midsentence.

An owl had swooped inside, a red envelope clamped in its beak.

Hannah regarded it carefully. It wasn't her family's owl, and basically the only other person who sent her mail was Susan. Handsome and tawny, the owl looked very out of place in her messy room.

"Who do you belong to?" Hannah mused aloud.

Susan took the envelope and read the back of it. "It just has your name." She handed it off to Hannah.

The envelope contained an invitation that Hannah was surprised to see had been sent by Ginny.

She told Susan, "It's an invitation to Harry's birthday party in two weeks."

Susan snatched it back to read it herself. "Hmm," she said, "They're trying to get the whole DA to come? That'd be a feat."

Hannah shrugged, "It's nice though."

"It's not on his actual birthday," Susan mused, "They're having it the Friday of that week. They must be expecting something wild in that case."

"Or they're just being understanding of people's schedules," Hannah countered, reaching out to take the invitation back.

Susan handed it over, crossing her arms as she continued to think about it. "It's not understanding of yours though."

Hannah shrugged. "I could ask for the night off," she said.

"Will you?" Susan asked, "Are you actually going to go?"

That earned a frown. "Why do you sound so skeptical?"

"When's the last time you were out with a group that included more than three people?"

She had a point. "But this isn't going out, exactly," Hannah argued. "It's just at their house."

"With upwards of thirty people there," Susan said.

Hannah frowned down at the invitation. She did want to go, she wanted to see people, she wanted to have fun, but at the same time…people meant questions, and fun was never guaranteed.

"I'll go if you go," Susan said.

Hannah looked up at her friend. Susan's gaze had an edge to it, like this was a challenge, an opportunity for Hannah to prove that she was actually doing okay. In that case, Hannah didn't see how she could say no, not without it becoming a big deal. Not without other people worrying more than they did already. Hannah didn't like the thought of that. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden, someone that her friends had to look out for and take care of.

"I'm going," she said.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! When I set out to write this I didn't think Harry and Ginny and their various events would be so important to the plot, but here we are lol. Reviews are always welcome and extremely appreciated! Next chapter should be up some time next week.


	5. Parents and Parties

Author's Note: Hello! Thank you to everyone who's made it this far! And special thanks go out to those of you who have shown your support with reviews and alerts! This chapter is a bit longer than the others but it covers a lot. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

The Friday following his birthday, Neville left his grandmother's house at six o'clock.

"When does the Potter party start? I thought you said it would last until late? How long do they expect you to celebrate him?" Augusta questioned when Neville told her that he was leaving.

Neville shrugged, "I dunno, Gran."

But he did know, he just didn't want to tell her. There was a stop he wanted to make before he went to Harry's.

The closed ward at St. Mungo's was quiet. Neville supposed that that wasn't much of a surprise, it wasn't exactly the place to be. While Augusta Longbottom liked to visit her son and daughter-in-law only around major holidays, particularly Christmas, Neville had taken to visiting more often since he'd been able to go on his own. He nodded in greeting at a Healer who was there checking in on one of the other patients, a man named Broderick who tended to mumble incessantly whenever he was awake.

"Hello, Mr. Longbottom," she said cheerily in response.

Neville bristled, standing up a little straighter. It was nice, he supposed, to be shown that kind of respect, but it also felt odd. For so many years he'd just been Neville there, and he didn't like to think of what had changed that. Besides, these were people who had seen him in some of his most vulnerable moments, they shouldn't feel the need to change how they addressed him.

He reached the end of the ward and pulled a curtain back slightly, revealing his parents where they lay in adjacent beds. Frank Longbottom was holding a book before him, albeit upside down. Neville thought inexplicably of Luna. He watched his father's face as his eyes darted around the pages in a way that suggested he was looking for something that he would never find. The white-knuckle grip that he used to hold onto the pages made Neville want to look away. Alice, meanwhile, sat cross legged on her bed, her frail body hunched over a piece of parchment from which she was tearing minute scraps. The wispy white hair that covered her head was tucked neatly behind her ears, suggesting to Neville that she'd recently been attended to.

"Hi, Dad," Neville said, "Hi, Mum."

Frank didn't acknowledge the greeting, but Alice's wide eyes met her son's and she nodded her head slightly in a vague semblance of recognition.

Neville walked over to the foot of Alice's bed. "Mind if I sit?" he asked. There wasn't a response, but he hadn't expected one. He sat down gently, careful not to disturb her too much.

He knew it would be a fruitless endeavor, but Neville watched both of his parents silently, searching their faces for any signs of the people that he knew they used to be, the ones from all of those pictures and stories that his grandmother loved to go on about. It was more than a bit disheartening. Neville sighed. Alice had gone back to tearing at the parchment, her fingers moving clumsily. There was no sign of the skill that she had previously possessed, and her face, sallow and aged beyond her years, didn't retain any of the resemblance to his own that Neville knew it once had.

"My friends Harry and Ginny are getting married," Neville said.

This was something that he'd only started doing the last few years, only when he was alone with his parents. His grandmother would have scoffed if she knew that he gave them updates about his life, about his friends and his interests, but Neville held out hope that on some level it would reach them. And besides, sometimes it just felt good to let those things out in that little corner of St. Mungo's, always partitioned off from the rest of the world.

Frank snapped the book shut only to open it again a split-second later and continue his search.

"I'm going to be a groomsman," Neville said, "Ron's the best man, of course. And Ginny chose Luna as her maid of honor with Hermione as another bridesmaid. They're having to rush the planning, but so far it seems that everything is coming together nicely."

The pile of parchment in Alice's lap was growing larger than what was left in her hands.

"I'm happy for them, but sometimes it feels like they're all rushing ahead while I'm left behind." Neville's eyes scoured over the scene before him, over his parents and their decrepit states. Images of the other Order of the Phoenix members, those who were still alive or had been able to die fighting for what they believed, passed through his mind. _Maybe_ , he thought, _left behind runs in the family_.

Neville was drawn once more to the book his father held. He almost smiled, seeing that it was _Holiday with Hags_. Lockhart had been moved to a different ward earlier in the year and Neville wondered if perhaps this had been a parting gift. The fact that he couldn't remember writing them hadn't dampened the pride that Gilderoy felt for his many volumes.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed together with Luna," Neville admitted. He looked in vain for some sort of reaction from either of his parents, but they were both still absorbed in their activities. "I mean, it was the right choice, to break up. We don't want the same things, and we're such good friends, it's for the best. But I just wonder if maybe I wouldn't feel so left out," he said. "Then at least that part of my life would be as advanced as it is for my friends." But Neville's thoughts reached out to the rest of his friends, the ones who he wasn't as close to, and he thought better of his statement. "I suppose that isn't actually true, though. Maybe those four just got lucky." He watched his mother silently for a moment before continuing, "They deserve it though, for what they've been through."

Neville stayed with his parents for a while longer. He told them about his plants, about the still unsolved mystery of his dying Mimbulus mimbletonia, and about the family dinner that they'd had earlier in the week for his birthday. But soon it was half-past seven, the time that the party was to start at. And besides, Neville could never stay there long. Seeing his parents always filled him with the same frustrated sadness, the tightness in his throat and heaviness in his chest that he'd come to expect from the odd mix of grief he would always feel. He grieved both for who his parents had been and for what his life might have been if only they'd been able to survive their attacks unscathed. It always made him feel guilty, though, to depart on account of those feelings. At least he could leave and lessen his discomfort, no one would ever know how much inescapable discomfort his parents would feel for the rest of their lives.

He was halfway to the ward's doors when Neville heard the soft padding of bare feet approaching him. When he turned, he found his mother coming up behind him. "What is it, Mum?" Neville asked.

Alice offered a folded up gum wrapper to him, just the same as she usually did.

Neville took it from her and forced a smile onto his face. "Thank you, Mum," he said. A Healer was already approaching to take her back to her bed as Neville pocketed the wrapper. Knowing that help was right there should they need it, Neville ventured to wrap an arm around his mother's frail shoulders. She stood stiffly in his embrace, and Neville failed to feel the comfort he always longed for on these visits, but as he pulled away he supposed that it had been a valiant effort on both of their parts.

"I'll see you in a few weeks," Neville said as the Healer led his mother away from him. He watched her go, thinking that he didn't really know if that was true, but also that his mother might have no concept of what that meant anymore anyway. Alice didn't look back at her son, but simply disappeared back behind the curtain.

When Neville arrived at Grimmauld Place he was surprised that no noise emerged from the party. In talking to Ginny he'd learned that she, at least, wanted this to be a real blowout celebration. It had been so long since everyone had been together, and she had admitted that she was using Harry's birthday as a lure to get them all in one place, hopefully affording everyone the opportunity to let loose. Neville thought that maybe Ginny was still trying to make up for the lack of carefree days they'd had in their later years at school. He certainly couldn't blame her if that were the case.

Neville realized his error, though, as he climbed the steps to number twelve's door and could suddenly hear faint music coming from inside. The Fidelius charm was still on the house, so he wouldn't be able to hear anything from inside until he was on the property itself. Of course the number of people who knew the secret of its location was quite large, but Neville understood Harry and Ginny's desire to keep the place as secretive as possible. Just because Voldemort was dead didn't mean that his supporters were—that was something Neville knew all too well from his time with the Aurors.

Neville knocked on the door and after a minute it opened to reveal Harry.

"Hello, Neville," Harry said cheerfully, moving over to let him over the threshold and inside the mouth of the long hallway.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Neville said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could. After leaving the hospital his mood was alright, he could breathe easier at least, but he still wasn't necessarily in the mood for a party. Maybe, though, that was exactly why he needed to go.

"You too, mate!" Harry said, shutting the door. They hugged briefly and then Harry started leading Neville down the hall. "Everyone's in the kitchen right now," he said.

Neville looked around. Behind the red and gold streamers that had been hung from seemingly every surface, including the stairs leading as far up as Neville could see, was new wallpaper and fresh paint. "Everything looks great," he said.

"It's basically all Ginny," Harry admitted. "Although originally she'd wanted to do green in here and I'd objected."

Down in the kitchen they found a smattering of old friends. In addition to Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and George there was Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil, and Justin Finch-Fletchly. The music was much louder there. Ginny threw her arms around Neville's shoulders and he thought he could already smell alcohol on her breath when she shouted a greeting. He looked around, waving at everyone, and saw that Ginny wasn't alone. Almost everyone had drinks in hand already and, he noted, more than a few seemed to already be feeling the effects. Lee Jordan was talking even more animatedly than normal while both Ron and Hermione's cheeks were tinged red.

Over the course of the next hour seemingly the entire DA plus others who'd been invited flooded into the house. There were three rooms that contained most of the party, spread out across three stories. The basement kitchen was where to go for drinks. George and Lee were both playing bartender although, Neville noted, Angelina was also stationed there, making sure that they stayed on track despite already having indulged a bit themselves. On the ground floor the dining room held snacks and a large cake in the shape of a hippogriff that was yet to be cut. It was also the quietest room, with no music being played directly into it but rather drifting in from both above and below. On the first floor, meanwhile, the drawing room, which had undergone perhaps the most dramatic change in Harry and Ginny's remodeling, was where almost everyone had congregated, dancing and laughing and singing along to the music. When Neville slid into the room, his first drink of the night in hand, a Weird Sisters song was blasting and he heard Pravarti Patil shout something to Lavender Brown about the Yule Ball.

Neville took a sip of his drink, feeling the warmth slipping down his throat and into his body. He observed the room, including Seamus and Dean dancing wildly on top of a sofa, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet laughing at them, and Cho Chang and Terry Boot huddled in a corner talking.

Movement by the door caught Neville's eye, He turned to see Luna floating in, wearing a gold dress and an updated version of her radish earrings that included what appeared to be acorns as well. She approached him with an airy smile on her face and Neville's thoughts flashed back to what he'd told his mother. He ducked his head then, taking another drink from his glass.

"Evening, Neville," she said. "Have you noticed the puffskein on the couch?"

Neville looked to see what she was talking about. He didn't see a puffskein, he saw a furry looking pillow with a vaguely puffskein-like shape. "Um, I think that's just a cushion, Luna."

Luna frowned, tilting her head to regard it from a different angle. "I suppose you could be right, but I believe it might have something more too it."

He felt a rush of affection for Luna, for her willingness to believe, her easy grace and confidence. It suddenly felt all jumbled in his mind—his current adoration of their friendship mixed with memories of kissing her years ago and the slightly dizzying effect that the firewhiskey was already having.

She moved on, gliding toward where Justin and Ernie Macmillan were seemingly having a good time singing along with the song that still blasted throughout the room.

Neville watched Ernie squirm as Luna spoke. Justin, meanwhile, smiled broadly at Luna and responded to whatever she'd said animatedly. Ernie looked up and, seeing Neville surveying the scene, made his way over.

"Are you two still together then?" Ernie asked.

Taken off guard was one way to describe how Neville felt at being asked that with such a lack of subtlety, blindsided was another. "Err, no," he said, the hand that wasn't holding his drink reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He wondered offhandedly whether or not he needed a haircut.

Ernie stepped closer to Neville, elbowing him conspiratorially. "You still like her, then?"

"No," Neville said, forcing himself to feel sure about it and almost completely believing the sentiment. "We're great friends."

"Hmm," Ernie said. He sipped his drink and Neville mirrored the action.

His glass was half empty, and he noted that George and Lee were making the drinks plenty strong even with a voice of reason present. Perhaps, Neville thought, he should slow down, or at the very least go and get some snacks. His eyes swept the room, looking for a better reason to excuse himself from Ernie. When one couldn't be found, Neville decided that it was better than nothing and noted, "I'm going downstairs to grab some food."

"Oh, excellent idea," Ernie said happily, turning stepping out through the door to the landing.

Neville sighed. He took another sip of his drink and followed.

The dining room was much less crowded than the drawing room. The spread of food on the tables looked freshly replenished and Neville approached it, picking up one of the small plates that they had out and piling it high with snacks.

Ernie did the same beside him. "So what have you been doing? I heard you quit the Aurors. Have to admit I thought that was a bit of a crazy move on your part," he said.

"I've been traveling," Neville said. He took a bite of food and scanned this room. At the end of the table Ron and Hermione were sitting and talking with Oliver Wood, who, it seemed, was explaining something rather complicated given the wide-ranging hand motions he was using. Though there were empty chairs scattered around the room Hermione was perched on Ron's lap, his hands thrown comfortably around her waist.

"That must be nice," Ernie said. "I can't imagine traveling right now. So much to be done here, but I reckon you've had a good time, yeah?"

Ron said something to Wood and both he and Hermione laughed lightly.

"Yeah," Neville said. He wanted nothing more to do with Ernie and his questions. They were valid, he supposed, even if they were a little intrusive, but Neville wasn't in the mood. He moved to join the conversation at the end of the table.

Ron and Hermione smiled at him as he approached, while Wood held out a hand for him to shake. Neville had just sat down when Ernie pulled up a chair and joined as well. His greetings were a bit more curt from Hermione and Ron, but Wood was just as enthusiastic.

"Oliver was just telling us about something that happened at a practice session the other day," Hermione said. She sipped her drink before letting out a small hiccup.

Ron elaborated, "He's assistant-coaching for the Montrose Magpies now."

"Could only stand to be a reserve player for so long," Wood said cheerily.

The conversation carried on, only now with interjections from Ernie. Neville wasn't paying much attention though. He wished that he could focus, that he could enjoy himself, but for whatever reason it just wasn't working that night. He had started looking at a large hutch that sat behind Ron. Inside were trinkets and dishes and, Neville noted with a slightly queasy feeling, a framed picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. His eyes landed on his parents' faces in the picture's crowded lineup. They smiled broadly.

Neville downed the rest of his drink.

He immediately regretted it, however, when he looked up and saw that Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott had arrived.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! It means a lot to me that people are taking the time to read this story, despite the fact that its leads aren't exactly the most popular pairing (understandably). I'm not the best at writing parties—perhaps from a lack of experience—but we'll be seeing more of this one from Hannah's perspective in the next chapter, and things are going to get a little crazy.


	6. Imbibing

Author's Note: Hello! As always, thanks for reading!

* * *

Hannah Abbott had already disappeared on her friends twice. The first time was during their sixth year, when her mother had been murdered. Apparently, Hannah had learned, her mother's status as a muggle-born witch with any semblance of power in the Ministry made her a target for the Death Eaters. And Norah Abbott, who usually went to work accompanied by her husband, had made the mistake of going in early and alone on one late September morning. Hannah hadn't had much of a choice in that disappearance, though. It was her father and his parents who had chosen to keep her home from Hogwarts.

"It's too dangerous out there," her father had warned. She remembered being scared by how raw his voice sounded.

The next time that she'd disappeared had been entirely her fault. After finishing her education she was left with no obvious direction in her life. The only thing she had was a standing invitation from her maternal grandmother to go and stay with her in Belfast awhile. Taking her Nana up on that would keep Hannah mostly outside of the wizarding world, just for simplicity's sake. But honestly, instead of deterring her from accepting the offer, that fact made Hannah want to go even more. The wizarding world had already taken so much out of her, had taken her mother away from her, so taking a break from it...it felt right at the time.

Hannah hadn't exactly enjoyed either of those disappearances, though. Both were filled with feelings of isolation and depression. Even so, as she approached the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, thoughts of pulling a third disappearing act flit through her mind.

Susan's presence at her side made Hannah feel guilty for those thoughts despite their brevity.

"Ready?" Susan asked, beaming at Hannah.

Hannah nodded, mustering a smile. The sounds of loud music and an even louder combination of voices emanated from the house. She felt off balance on the narrow steps, as if the heels of her booties were hanging off the edge even though she knew they weren't.

Susan knocked on the door the same way she did whenever she visited Hannah, the three crisp knocks each amping up Hannah's heart rate.

The door swung open but no one was there. At least, that's what Hannah thought until she looked down and found a grizzled house-elf staring up at them. He appeared quite old, at least as old as the most elderly elves she'd met in the kitchens at Hogwarts, and wore a simple black tunic and, strangely, a silver locket.

"Er, hello there," she said.

"Welcome to Master Harry's birthday," the elf croaked, barely audible over the raucous sounds that seemed to be coming from every part of the house. He shuffled back so that they could enter, quickly shutting and securing the door behind them.

Hannah was taken aback by how grand the house was. It had a massive staircase that seemed to go up at least three floors, and another staircase before them that must have led down to a basement. The walls had rich scarlet wallpaper with an intricate pattern—at least as far as Hannah could tell. It was currently covered by multiple layers of streamers, which also hung above their heads and off of most surfaces.

The little house-elf gestured towards the end of the hallway. "Drinks are served in the kitchen. Master Harry asked Kreacher to send his guests there first. Master also said to say food is in Master's dining room." He was about to say something else, but stopped as he watched someone approaching them.

"I've got it from here, Kreacher. Thank you."

Ginny was bounding down the stairs, beaming at Hannah and Susan. She wore tight jeans and an embellished tank-top, her red hair falling prettily around her bare shoulders. "We tried to give him the night off," she said by way of greeting, nodding to the spot where the house-elf had just been but had since disappeared from. "He wouldn't hear of it though. I think he still gets nervous about having guests." She reached the bottom of the stairs and swept them into a hug. "Thank you for coming! It's so great to see you both!"

"Great to see you too! And congrats on everything!" Susan enthused.

An opening hung in the air and Hannah felt like she waited a beat too long to take it. "Yeah," she finally agreed. "And this house is amazing."

"Thanks!" Ginny said. She looked around, admiring the surroundings with pride. "We just redid it. It was Harry's godfather's and needed a lot of work." She started walking down the hall and motioned for them to follow. "I mean, we'd done a lot already, just to make it livable for the past few years. But now we really wanted to make it our own."

Ginny pushed through a door into the basement, revealing a large but narrow kitchen. Hannah was beginning to think that everything in this house might just be long and narrow and grand. As they stepped inside a burst of laughter came from the far end of the room. There sat a large group, including George Weasley, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson. There were also a few other older DA members and Harry himself. Harry looked up as they approached, sending an easy grin in Ginny's direction and then, after a small delay, noticing Hannah and Susan. He got up to greet them and Hannah stifled a laugh, immediately seeing that he was a little off-balance and in what must have been at least a tipsy state. It wasn't that he was drunk, but Hannah had been working at the pub long enough to recognize when people were on their way to drunkenness. In fact, looking around the room, it seemed that everyone there was already in the same boat.

They exchanged greetings with Harry, catching up minimally and telling him happy birthday.

"Thanks!" he said. He gestured towards the end of the room where he'd just left, "George and Lee are bartending, but I've gotta warn you, everything they're making is strong."

Hannah smiled. That seemed accurate.

She and Susan got drinks and then went upstairs. Ginny had told them where there were snacks and that a bunch of people were in the drawing room dancing. Hannah took one sip of her drink and, as the alcohol burned the back of her throat, she told Susan, "I need snacks if I'm going to finish this."

"Didn't you eat after your shift?" Susan asked, coming to a stop on the ground floor's landing. She sipped her drink as well, but was seemingly unaffected by it.

"Didn't have time," Hannah said. She'd managed to get the night off by switching shifts with one of the other servers, Sam Fenwick, but when he was late she was forced to work into her original shift time until he finally arrived. Then she had to rush to get ready for the party and, in her haste, hadn't found any time for dinner.

"Alright, but then I want to go dance," Susan said. She was smiling hugely and Hannah was happy for it. Susan worked so hard, giving her all to her job in the hopes of making it her career, and deserved to have this night for pure fun. Hannah just hoped that she wouldn't be the one to dampen her friend's enthusiasm.

The girls entered the dining room and stood for a moment, taking in the scene. Hannah was immediately drawn to the huge table whose surface was covered by a wide variety of foods. She hadn't eaten in so long, her stomach growled just looking at it all. Not to mention the masterpiece of a hippogriff-shaped cake that she wanted a closer look at. But Susan elbowed her and nodded at one of the corners of the room, where a small group sat together. She saw Ernie immediately, and reached back in her mind to try to think of the last time she'd seen him. All that she found in that process, though, was guilt. Also sitting there were Ron, Hermione, Oliver Wood, and Neville.

Hannah reached down to tug at the skirt of her dress. Her mind flashed back to that night a few weeks ago, the last time she'd seen Neville, and to their conversation. Maybe "conversation" was a bit generous for their small exchange, but nevertheless Hannah's thoughts were caught on the moment when her stomach had flipped. That night had been such an anomaly, a detour from the everyday that she wouldn't mind taking again.

Neville's eyes landed on the two of them.

 _Then again_ , Hannah thought, _detours can also be quite scary_.

"You go ahead," she told Susan. "I'll come over after I grab a plate."

"Okay," Susan agreed happily. She moved airily over to the group. Hannah watched out of the corner of her eye as she moved to the table. Ernie sprang up to greet Susan. Hannah piled a plate high with prawns, tiny fish fingers, mini Yorkshire puddings, and, to make herself feel better about everything else she'd selected, some sliced vegetables. Another glance at the group in the corner showed that Susan had brought over two more chairs, one of which was obviously meant for Hannah, and was speaking to Hermione animatedly while Ernie and Oliver were apparently wrapped up in their own back-and-forth which Ron and Neville seemed to only be half paying attention to. Ron was absentmindedly playing with one of Hermione's curls and Neville snacked on his own plate of food, staring into his empty glass.

Hannah fidgeted with her dress again before approaching the group.

"Hannah!" Ernie said brightly, halting his conversation with Oliver when she reached them. He stood and hugged her as best he could over the back of his chair, an action that resulted in one arm wrapping around her shoulders and the other just patting one of her arms.

"Hello, Ernie," Hannah said. She moved to the empty chair next to Susan as soon as he let her go.

She greeted the rest of the group and then waited for them to get back to their discussions. But that didn't happen.

"How long has it been since we saw each other?" Ernie asked her.

"Too long," she said. She offered a small smile, hoping that the apology it held was received.

"You'd think you'd gone into the Muggle lifestyle again," Ernie joked.

The others all turned to look at Hannah, some dramatically and some with an amount of subtlety she was grateful for. Susan even turned, but rather than interest Hannah thought that it was probably out of concern. They both loved Ernie, but they'd also both been the victim of his mouth before and knew what it was like. Hannah sipped her drink.

"So, how's everyone's night been so far?" Susan said.

Hannah stared down at her plate but sent silent thanks her way.

"Wonderful," Hermione said quickly.

"It's been great to catch up with people," Ron added.

Hannah extended her silent gratitude to them as well, taking a bite out of one of the puddings.

"I've gotta admit, I felt rather old," Oliver said with a laugh. "I can't keep up with everybody."

Ernie spoke up then. "It does seem like everyone's been enjoying themselves, imbibing and all."

There were laughs all around, even if they were forced.

Another awkward lull fell. Hannah looked up and just caught Neville looking at her before he turned away. He glanced back down at his empty glass and then stood up. "I'm going for another drink," he said. "Anyone care to join me?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Hermione said. She nodded in the direction of the door.

George and Lee were both entering the room, each using one hand to carry large platters full of shot glasses and the other to drag Harry along behind them. Harry was smiling but pulled against their grasps playfully. Following that trio was Angelina and, it appeared, everyone else who was at the party. As they all crowded into the room Ginny brought up the rear.

"Time for cake!" she shouted, moving to stand near the hippogriff-shaped confectionary.

"And shots!" Lee added.

Hannah saw Ginny roll her eyes, but smile nonetheless.

Everyone stood and accepted the empty shot glasses that George and Lee were passing out. As soon as she grasped it, Hannah watched the glass fill with an amber liquid: firewhiskey. She glanced over and noticed that Susan's glass was full of a clear liquid that must have been gin, her preferred drink, while Ron's was darker, like bourbon. She smiled looking down at her own shot again. They were clever devices, perhaps something that was being developed as a new product for George to sell. She couldn't help but think that the Leaky Cauldron would benefit from them if there were a way to track what their users drank.

"To the boy who lived!" George shouted.

Everyone downed their shots. Hannah felt the warmth spreading through her immediately. She wanted to lean into the buzz that would soon build, to loose herself in the night. Yet she frowned down at the shot glass as it refilled, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Someone nudged Hannah's arm and she turned to find Hermione.

"There's non-alcoholic cider downstairs. The glass can also refill with that, so long as you think about it," Hermione said.

Hannah glanced down at the deep red liquid that Hermione held.

"Or you could do wine," Hermione added, seeing her gaze. She offered a broad, easy smile before carefully turning and moving the few feet back to be by Ron's side. She leaned on him comfortably, her cheeks flushed.

Hannah smiled. Who would have thought she'd live to see a tipsy Hermione Granger?

"To the Chosen One!" Seamus Finnegan yelled.

Hannah watched everyone else begin taking their shots before downing hers as well. She concentrated her thoughts just as Hermione had instructed. The glass still filled with amber liquid, but it was lighter this time and free of the harsh scent of alcohol. As Hannah sniffed at it, attempting to be subtle, she caught a fruity scent instead.

Ginny motioned to the cake, which now had a large candle burning on the hippogriff's outstretched claw.

"Can we do this before any other shots please?"

"Well we could, but—"

"Oh shut it," Ginny said, laughing as she cut off George who mocked being hurt before falling into laughter as well.

She stretched out her hand to bring Harry over to the cake.

A chorus of "Happy Birthday" broke out. It wasn't exactly melodious, as some people slurred the lyrics and many used different tempos, but it did the trick. Everyone cheered as Harry blew out the candle and then watched in awe as a miniature fireworks display broke out above the cake.

"You'll be able to buy those soon," Ron announced as several guests oohed and aahed.

"Could you not advertise during the party?" Ginny said, receiving rude hand gestures from both of her present brothers.

She frowned at them until Harry kissed her.

Hannah's thoughts flashed back to a letter she'd received during what should have been her sixth year. Susan had written to her often then, and once it was a letter full of news from the castle. Of particular interest at the moment was the rumor that Harry and Ginny had snogged in front of the whole of Gryffindor house. Apparently not much had changed.

Ron cleared his throat as the kiss lingered. Harry and Ginny broke apart, each a little red in the face. Ron raised his glass and the rest of the room followed suit.

"To Harry," Ron said, "My best mate and soon to be brother."

"To Harry!" the room exclaimed.

The rest of the night was a fast-paced blur of movement, shouting, and food for Hannah. She danced with Susan, she ate cake while chatting with her dear friend Justin Finch-Fletchley, and she felt the joyful freedom that comes from being tipsy with people you love.

The drawing room became a sweaty jumble of bodies all moving to the beat in sloppy unison. Seamus tried to hop from the couch to a piano bench and fell in the process, landing with a hard thud that could be felt through the floor but not heard over the music. Susan's hair was a mess and Hannah reveled in seeing her normally careful friend be so carefree. It made her wish that she could be at the same level, but even with the cake she wasn't sure her stomach could handle much more drinking. And besides, with that many drunk people in one house there needed to be some who were at least mostly sober. That, it seemed, was left up to Ginny mostly. Hermione was tipsy but not the mess that most others were. Luna also seemed unaffected but, Hannah reasoned, that didn't necessarily mean anything. The only others she saw who weren't entirely gone were Angelina and Terry Boot.

At one point Susan stopped dancing to wipe her brow.

"Do you want to go get some water?" Hannah asked, shouting over the music.

Susan shook her head.

Hannah frowned. "I think we should go get water."

"Okay," Susan conceded.

They left the room and started down the stairs, with Hannah aiming for the basement kitchen.

"Oh no," Susan said, her hands clutching the railing tightly as she stilled.

"What is it?" Hannah asked.

"Stairs're 'ard," Susan said.

Or maybe the kitchen wouldn't be an option. Hannah put her arm around Susan's waist and helped guide her down to the dining room. It was empty in there aside form the house-elf they'd seen earlier, who was straightening the table. Hannah deposited Susan in a chair and then moved to the table. She found two glasses and quickly performed a cleaning charm on them before muttering, "Aguamenti," and dispensing water from her wand. She took one glass and a plate of quickly assembled food to Susan and then returned to the table to take her own water and to get a plate full of prawns for herself while attempting to ignore the odd carcass of the hippogriff cake.

They sat in silence, eating and rehydrating. Hannah felt her head getting clearer as she ate, the tipsiness leaving her little by little until she was barely buzzed. Susan meanwhile, appeared to be getting sleepier as she ate. Her blinking got slower and her head began to lean to one side.

"Susan?" Hannah said.

"Wha?" Susan said.

Hannah frowned. "I'll be right back," she said, moving towards the door. She found Ginny in the drawing room, dancing with Harry. She explained the situation and the two girls left the room to go back to Susan.

"It's no problem," Ginny assured her. "There are already people sleeping in our spare rooms—Pravarti hardly made it past the cake. We can just apparate her up, or walk with her, whichever's easiest."

"I don't think she's in a state to apparate honestly," Hannah said, trying to fend off the sickly images of what would happen if they attempted that route.

When they got to the dining room they found Susan curled up on top of two chairs that were situated next to each other. Both let out small bursts of laughter.

"Susan?" Hannah asked. "Susan? We're going to take you up to a bed. You can spend the night here, okay?"

Susan made a noise of assent and began to sit up. Hannah and Ginny both helped her up and then started the process of guiding her upstairs. By the time that they reached the staircase they weren't guiding so much as pulling and maybe lifting slightly as well. Hannah remembered admiring the staircase earlier, unable to recall why as she pulled her friend up it.

"Unfortunately," Ginny said as they reached the second floor landing, "All of these rooms are already taken and we have to go up another flight."

"How many rooms do you have?" Hannah asked, realizing a moment later that perhaps that had been a little blunt.

Ginny didn't seem bothered by it though. "Eight," she said. "It used be nine, but we turned the one on the first floor into a study. Which feels a bit foolish now." They shared a small laugh, both shaking slightly under Susan's weight. "I'd use magic to do this," Ginny said, "but these stairs are so narrow. I'm worried I'd run her into something."

"Don't worry about it," Hannah said. Besides, Ginny was definitely stronger than Hannah was, and as such was doing more of the work.

Eventually Ginny led them into a cheery little bedroom on the third floor. They settled Susan in and left, but not before Hannah wrote a note to Susan recapping the situation so that her friend would, hopefully, not be worried when she woke up alone in a strange room.

"You're really alright letting so many people stay?" Hannah asked Ginny on their way back down to the drawing room.

"We've got the space, and the food," Ginny said with a shrug.

When they did get back to the core of the party, they found that even more people were in need of assistance.

"You don't have to help," Ginny said.

Hannah shook her head, "No, I don't mind."

So that was how the rest of Hannah's night went. As the party dwindled she and Ginny, Hermione, and Angelina helped people on their way, either to one of the bedrooms upstairs or to the fireplace in the basement kitchen, which was the only one in the house connected to the Floo network.

It was a little past 2 in the morning when everything finally seemed settled. Harry, Ron, and Neville all sat at the kitchen table, each one half-asleep, while Hermione got a jumpstart on cleaning up the various pieces of rubbish that had gathered in that room.

"Well I think that's everyone sorted," Ginny said. She turned to Hannah. "Thank you so much for your help."

"Of course!" Hannah enthused. She was tired, exhausted really, but very happy with her night.

"You're Flooing home, right?" Ginny asked, she walked over to where Neville was slouched, shaking him gently. "Neville, come on, let's get you back to your gran's."

"Yeah, I am," Hannah said.

Ginny continued her attempts to wake Neville. "Neville come on!"

"Alrigh," he slurred. He stood up, and promptly tripped as he attempted to walk forward.

"Not you too," Ginny said.

"Mrs. Longbottom won't be happy to see him like that," Hermione said, frowning.

"But all of the beds are already taken. And the bloody couches!" Ginny said. She sighed, steadying Neville as he attempted to walk again. "You weren't supposed to get so drunk," she chided him, but there wasn't a response.

Hannah spoke with the same brashness that had guided her over the last several hours. "I could take him back to the Leaky Cauldron. There should be a room open."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.

Hannah nodded, "Yeah, it'll be fine."

"Bless you," Ginny said.

Hannah moved over to them and took Ginny's place, trying not to think too much as she slid her arm around Neville's waist and pulled his arm over her shoulder.

"If you get sick on me," she muttered, "I'll return the favor."

She managed to get to the fireplace and was about to ask for the Floo powder when Ginny gave her a small bottle.

"It's a little tonic for the hangover he'll have tomorrow," she explained.

Hannah pocketed it but raised an eyebrow at Ginny. "You just happened to have this?"

"I might have brewed some in preparation for tonight," Ginny said. "Err, well, I guess tomorrow really."

Hannah laughed, "So you wanted it to go like this."

Ginny shrugged, smiling. "Maybe not as messy as it ended up being," she said, "But I wanted everyone to have fun."

Hannah smiled back. "Well you definitely succeeded."

Hannah's smile didn't last long when she made it back to the inn. She had stepped out from the fireplace into the empty pub and then lugged Neville with her in search of Tom, who somehow always seemed to be awake and somewhere near the bar.

"Tom?" she called.

Neville seemed to only barely be conscious, his body weighing her down. He muttered something nonsensical.

"It's alright," Hannah murmured back. Then, finally seeing Tom emerging from the kitchen, she called out to him. "Please tell me there's a room available."

Tom took in the image in front of him before saying, "You already have a room."

Hannah's face went ablaze, "My friend needs one."

"We're all booked," Tom said, but his face lacked any form of seriousness. He looked downright amused. "Isn't that the Longbottom boy?" he mused.

"We've had open rooms for the past month," Hannah said. She wasn't in the mood for some kind of joke or discussion.

Tom sighed, "Hannah, I promise, we're all booked. A big party came in today and took all four open rooms."

Hannah sighed right back at him, shifting uncomfortably under Neville's weight.

She turned and started for the stairs. "Thanks Tom," she called over her shoulder. But when she looked back at the bar, he wasn't there anymore.

They made it halfway up the first flight of stairs before Hannah gave in and used magic. It wasn't ideal, this stairway was also kind of tight and she still felt slightly off-balance, but it was the only way. And she almost did it without incident, until she reached her door and tried to set him back against the wall, resulting in his head knocking against it with a loud bang.

" _Shit,_ " she said, rushing over to steady his body.

" _Fuck_ _,_ " Neville said in a garbled voice.

His breath fell onto Hannah's cheeks and she was suddenly more aware of how close their bodies were. Although maybe aware wasn't the word, she'd been aware of that since the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Now she was more…affected by it. The weight of his body leaning on hers made her mouth feel dry.

Hannah pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind as she struggled into the room and finally deposited him onto the bed. She quickly snatched her yellow blanket out from under his shoes, tossing it onto the armchair, before pulling a spare quilt out from the basket she kept under the bed and spreading that over him.

"Goodnight Neville," she said. She turned to look back at her room and was left wondering where she was supposed to sleep now.

* * *

And I thought the last chapter was long… Thank you so much for taking the time to read! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was a doozy for me to write. Special thanks to everyone who has shown support for this fic! It means the world to me that people want to follow this story. Your support really helps me to push through the rough parts and get my writing done, which was very much needed this time around. Thank you!


	7. Nothing a Good Fry-Up Can't Fix

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!

* * *

Neville awoke with a strange sensation in his head. It was as if there were two drums mounted inside of his skull and each one played its own distinct beat. This was unlike any hangover he'd had before, not that he'd had many. But still, usually he would only have one source of pain in his head. And usually the sensitivity to light wasn't so bad either. But the sunlight, which was usually minimal in his bedroom in the morning, seemed ten times brighter than normal.

When Neville finally opened his eyes fully, though, he realized why it was so much brighter: it wasn't his room he was in. Rather than the dark navy walls and heavy tartan curtains he was surrounded by at home, this room had bright off-white walls and thin, airy window dressings that let in ample morning light.

It only took a moment after this realization hit for Neville to bolt out of the bed, reaching for his wand automatically and finding it still in the pocket of his trousers. A feeling of foolishness flooded him a moment later, though, when the only possible threat he found was the sleeping form of Hannah Abbott.

She was cuddled into a piece of furniture that looked like an odd version of a chaise lounge, a knitted yellow blanket covering her. The makeshift bed looked as if an armchair had been stretched out a little bit and widened so that it was just large enough for Hannah's small body to curl up on. One more glance around the room and it dawned on Neville that that was probably exactly what it was. She'd given her bed to him, and was left to make this for herself. How he'd even ended up in her room, and then why she had given him her bed, were still mysteries. But then, so was the location of this room.

Neville moved towards the window, careful not to make any noise or bump into anything. The room was small, and rather cramped with Hannah's things. He'd just passed the transfigured chair when a floorboard creaked under his foot. Worried that he'd woken Hannah, he turned to check. The tip of her wand was aimed directly at his heart. Hannah had sat up on the chair and turned to face him, her petite frame tensed. For a moment, Neville looked into her hazel eyes and thought that perhaps she wasn't really seeing him, that his identity somehow hadn't made the trip from those eyes to her mind. He was sure that she was about to hex him. The words must have lain on her parted lips and itched to be said. But the next second Hannah's body lost its rigidity, and she lowered her wand, a hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes wide with what looked like horror.

Neville held up his own wand as evidence that she wasn't alone in her instinctual reaction. "No worries," he said.

They both just stared at each other for a moment. The pounding in Neville's head was momentarily overpowered by a swelling feeling in his heart. Hannah's cheeks were tinged pink and small, wispy pieces of her blonde hair fell around her face, having escaped from the messy knot on top of her head. She wore an oversized gray t-shirt that hung loosely and lopsided from her body, exposing a good amount of her collarbone.

Neville swallowed thickly. "So," he said, "About last night…"

"I'm so sorry about your head," Hannah said. She stood from the chair and started folding her blanket.

Neville's eyes darted to Hannah's legs. She wore light pink pajama bottoms that didn't quite reach her ankles. It made his stomach flip, to see Hannah in those clothes, which was silly of course. She'd worn a very flattering and respectably short dress the night before. That article of clothing was what should have made him feel like this. And besides, basically the entire DA had seen each other in various states of undress during their time hiding out in the Room of Requirement. Yet the version of her who stood before him was so comfortable, exposed in such a different way, that it was somehow more intimate—admittedly too intimate for Neville's comfort levels. He still didn't even know how he'd gotten there.

He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. "What about my head?" he asked, reaching up to feel the back of his skull. He recoiled from the brush of his own fingertips, finding a small lump of swelling that he realized was the source of some of his pain.

"You don't remember?" Hannah asked, hugging the folded blanket to her stomach.

"Honestly?" Neville said, "I don't remember much from last night after the cake." He had held onto his magically re-filling shot glass for a few too many rounds of firewhiskey, and had quickly lost track of just about everything. It was an embarrassing truth to admit, but that was the least of his feelings about the night before. At least he didn't have to tell her why he'd been driven to drink too much, that the combination of one little picture and a visit with his parents had proven to be too much for one night. He'd been irresponsible and, frankly, stupid, and he knew that. But he also knew that he'd rather be seen as those things than weak or pitiable, and that was the reputation he thought would come with the full truth. Just the potential of Hannah finding that out provoked the urge to retch. Of course, maybe that was the hangover.

Hannah set the blanket down on the back of the transfigured chair. She ran the tips of her fingers across its intricately woven pattern in slow, careful circles. "Okay," she said, motioning to the chair's outstretched seat, "I'll tell you what I can."

They sat together on the edge of the seat.

"Could you start with where exactly I am?" Neville said, not quite able to meet her eyes as he did so.

Even without looking at her, he could hear the grin in Hannah's voice when she answered, "My room above the Leaky Cauldron."

Over the next fifteen minutes Hannah recapped the previous night's events for Neville. She walked him through everything she knew about his night specifically, which was basically only from the short time between her arrival and the cake and then picked up again right before they left, but also threw in other anecdotes. Most of those were about the drunken antics of other friends, like when Seamus fell on his ass from the couch or Michael Corner vomited upon his departure via the Floo network. Neville knew what she was doing, he saw it in the tilt of her head and the hopeful widening of her kind eyes as she told him those parts. She was trying to make him feel better about his own stupidity, or at least not alone in it. In fact, from the sounds of it, Neville had been far from alone. Hannah had been one of the few odd ones out, apparently, by not getting wasted.

"So when I finally got you to bed," Hannah said, finishing up the tale, "I just made this so I had somewhere to lay too."

"I'm sorry," Neville said. His head was ducked and he stared at his hands where they rested on his legs.

"It's nothing," Hannah said. "I'm just sorry about your poor head. How're you feeling?"

Neville sighed. "Honestly? Not the best." He motioned to his head. "This is hurting in multiple ways."

"That's what I was worried about."

Hannah jumped up from the chair and made her way to the wardrobe, digging inside of it for a moment before returning with a small vial.

"This is from Ginny," she said, handing the glass over. It was filled with a pearlescent pink substance. "Should help with the hangover."

Neville accepted and was about to say thanks yet again when Hannah flit toward a door that he presumed went to a bathroom.

She returned with a larger bottle that was an opaque blue but clearly held a dark liquid. "And this is a pain-relief potion I keep on hand," she said. She must have seen Neville looking at the bottle oddly because she explained further, "I tend to get headaches."

He nodded, but thought that she must have been holding something back because her voice sounded much more restricted, each word pronounced carefully in contrast to her easy tone when discussing the previous night.

"This isn't great to take on an empty stomach though," Hannah said. "So I'll pop downstairs and grab us some food after I change."

Neville shook his head, "That's too much, Hannah."

Hannah just smiled though, "It's fine." Her eyes narrowed for just a moment as she took a breath, and then she told him, "Honestly? It's nice to have your company."

Neville felt suddenly warm and found himself unable to meet her eyes. "Um," he said, trying to fill in the silence. "Well," he started again.

"I'm going to change," Hannah announced, setting the bottle down on her table and then rummaging around in the wardrobe. When she emerged her eyes landed on Neville again and for a split-second it looked like she was going to say something else, but instead she just looked to the side and strode back to the bathroom, this time closing the door behind herself.

Neville took a deep breath. He stared down at the vial, which was small enough that his fingers felt large and clumsy holding onto it. He thought his face must've been about the same shade as the tonic.

It had been such a small, simple truth. There wasn't anything inherently scary about it, but for some reason it had hit Neville hard, like a punch to the gut. Which was ridiculous, he reminded himself as he stood and began to pace. But still, if it were so ridiculous why was Hannah also acting as if something monumental had just taken place between the two of them? Neville had the horrible realization that perhaps he had done something to make her think that. His inability to give her a reasonable response probably hadn't looked the best, and the fact that he never gave a full response at all definitely wouldn't have been reassuring.

He stopped pacing when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Worse for wear didn't quite cover his appearance, with his hair sticking up wildly and dark circles having taken up residence under his eyes, starkly contrasting his skin's pallor.

"You look rather poorly," a scratchy voice wheezed out from the mirror.

Neville narrowed his eyes at his own reflection, but thought that maybe it was time to give that tonic a go. He uncorked the vial and downed the liquid, giving a startled sound and squeezing his eyes shut tightly as it burned down his throat. It was worse than the firewhiskey had been.

"Bloody hell," Hannah said.

Neville opened his eyes and saw that she had emerged from the bathroom, now clad in cropped jeans and a white t-shirt. Her hair fell in two loosely braided pigtails.

"Sorry," she said, moving to put her discarded pajamas into the wardrobe. "You just looked like you were drinking acid or something."

"Tasted like it," Neville said.

She smiled at him. "Any preferences for breakfast?" Hannah asked as she slipped on a pair of sandals.

"No," he said. "Anything's fine, and I can pay you back."

"I can usually get it for free," Hannah said with a shrug. "It's a perk of the job. But thank you."

"If for some reason you can't today—"

"Then I'll take you up on your offer," she said, her smile widening. "Be right back."

She slipped out the door of her room and Neville took a moment to breathe before heading into the bathroom himself.

After peeing he got a good look at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands—this time without any unwanted commentary. The diminishing of his earlier sallowness left him looking slightly more alive, and his headache had dulled a bit, now mostly just hurting in the back of his skull where it'd been hit. Luckily there was no sign of nausea at all. He splashed water on his face to stop feeling so stale, and hoped that would also make him more capable of basic interactions that he felt he had failed at so far. For the first time that morning he checked his watch. It was past ten, meaning that his grandmother would have been up for hours at that point and definitely aware of his absence. That wouldn't be pretty, but Neville tried to push his worries about that to the back of his mind. He ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the fact that it was so dark. Sure, it had darkened with age, but usually at this point of the summer he would have been outside enough to lighten it up a bit through exposure to the sun. Instead, it was the brunet that he had come to expect from mid-winter.

As he left the bathroom he yawned and, in doing so, caught the scent of his breath. It was pungent, to say the least, and he regretted having talked while sitting so close to Hannah earlier. He began searching his pockets for any mint or gum that he might have. "Aha," he said when his fingers finally brushed against something. But when he pulled it out, he lost all sense of triumph. It was the gum wrapper.

He jumped, shaken out of his thoughts, when a bang sounded on the door. Another one happened a split second later. Neville shoved the wrapper back into his pocket before opening the door.

"Thank you," Hannah said, brushing past with her hands full. She carried two large plates, each complete with a full English breakfast. She also had two large mugs of tea that Neville took from her to free up one of her hands.

They settled in on the transfigured chair, facing each other. Hannah had her legs crisscrossed and held her plate on her lap, her mug resting within reach on the floor. Neville's tea was in a similar place, and it had been spiked with the pain-relief potion. He only had one leg on the seat, bent to form a triangle with his other thigh, which led down to his foot that remained on the floor. For a moment, they both ate in silence, enjoying their food. The potatoes and mushrooms that had been included particularly enamored Neville, as they were weren't things Gran usually embraced.

"This is fantastic," Neville finally said. "Thank you, again."

Hannah waved off his thanks, but did tell him, "My mum always insisted that there's nothing a good fry-up can't fix."

Neville thought that he saw a hint of sadness creep into Hannah's otherwise content expression. Her eyes shone in a way that didn't exactly spell happiness, and her smile thinned out a bit. His mind raced back to their sixth year, to one of the last Herbology lessons in September. The image of Hannah's face as she left the room, already looking scared at having been singled out, rushed back to him. He remembered the wail they'd all heard, so loud that the walls of the greenhouse could hardly dull the sound. The rest of the year that class hadn't felt complete, not without Hannah.

He tried to focus on her face as it was now, though. Her moment of reflection had passed and Hannah had gone back to eating, carefully cutting off and spearing bits of sausage and tomato, her expression calm. With her head ducked down over her plate, Hannah's braids hung in front of her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, about what happened to her," Neville said, the words falling out of him before he could stop them.

Hannah stopped her movements. She set her knife and fork down on her plate carefully before reaching for her tea. Her eyes closed as she sipped the hot drink. It felt to Neville like she stayed in that position a long time, eyes shut and hands cradling her mug like she was attempting to absorb its warmth, but the rational part of his brain reminded him that it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before she looked at him again. Her hazel eyes held his gaze steadily, gently.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your parents," she said.

Neville nodded, and reached for his own mug. They left it at that. Nothing would fix their situations, they both knew that, but there was also a mutual agreement in the air that acknowledging it could work wonders. Neville, for his part, was still contending with the fact that more people knew about the fate of his parents. The story had regained traction in the months after the Battle of Hogwarts, when reports of Neville's own actions had been published everywhere. He thought about how Hannah had never had the option of hiding her mother's fate. Most of her classmates found out only moments after she had.

"So I think I heard something last night about you travelling?" Hannah said awhile later.

Neville told her about his travels while they finished off their meals. He recounted stories about his recent time in Egypt, the time he'd spent near the Mediterranean, and his trip to Japan. Hannah asked questions here and there, but mostly just listened attentively, taking it all in. After they were done with their food they set their plates on the floor, but kept talking. Hannah told Neville about the worst customers she'd had to deal with ("He tried to 'accio' a pint to himself and ended up sending the entire keg flying!") and her attempts at muggle craft projects. She asked Neville if he was still interested in Herbology and he told her about his seemingly doomed Mimbulus mimbletonia.

"That's horrible," Hannah said, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pouting in a frown.

"I just can't find any information about it," he said. "I've been trying for weeks now."

"Have you tried asking Professor Sprout about it?"

Neville shook his head. He felt at once foolish and defensive. The thought to try that hadn't even occurred to him, but he also didn't want to resort to it.

Hannah smiled. "You should try! She'd love to hear from you, I'm sure, and she's the best at this sort of stuff."

"Okay," Neville said, even though he was still unsure about the suggestion. He didn't want to shoot it down, at the very least not to Hannah's face, not while she looked so happy and enthusiastic about the idea. He checked his watch. Somehow it had gotten to be a quarter past noon. "Damn," he said, looking back at Hannah. "I should really get going, my gran is going to be pissed."

She nodded, but said, "And here I thought we were keeping you out of trouble by having you stay here."

Neville shrugged, smiling at her. "I can never really stay out of trouble with my gran."

It had been meant as a joke, but the way that Hannah frowned told him that it wasn't received as one. After a beat of silence she broke the tension by asking. "Your head feels better?"

"Yeah," Neville assured her. In fact, he hadn't even thought about how his head felt for the past hour or so, he'd been so wrapped up in just talking to Hannah.

"Good," she said.

They both stood up and Hannah walked him over towards the door.

When he'd crossed through the doorway he looked back. "Thank you again," Neville said. "For everything."

"Of course," Hannah said. It looked like she was going to say something else, but didn't. Instead she simply reached up to pull one of her braids over her shoulder.

Neville had the sudden urge to reach out, to touch her hair as well, or her cheek, or her hand, but he kept himself in check. "I'll see you soon."

"You certainly know where to find me," she quipped, smiling gently.

Neville reached up to rub the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond.

"Have a good day, Neville," Hannah said.

"Yeah, you too, Hannah," Neville told her.

He forced himself to turn away, to walk down the hall towards the stairs. The sound of her door clicking shut made him want to turn back. As he made his way down to the pub Neville thought that perhaps he should come around for a drink again soon. Very soon.

* * *

In doing research for this chapter (because I'm the sort of person who genuinely does research in order to write fanfiction) I found no information about anything that wizards use to treat minor injuries like bruises or headaches, which seems odd. Like they have the Pepperup potion for minor illness and obviously things like "episky" and essence of dittany for larger wounds, but nothing for simple little dings. So I decided to just throw in the pain-relief potion as a sort of catch-all.

Thanks again for reading! For some reason I'm feeling a little unsure about this chapter so any sort of feedback would be very much appreciated!

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, it's a tough one that has a lot to do with Hannah's family (so is basically all my own concept and storyline), but hopefully it'll be posted within the next two weeks.


	8. The Abbott Family

Author's Note: I was tempted to wait a day so this could be published on Neville's birthday, but given that this chapter doesn't even have Neville in it, I decided that that would be a little silly. Nevertheless, an early happy 37th birthday to Neville Longbottom! And, thank you so much for reading!

* * *

Godric's Hollow was always quiet on Sunday afternoons. Hannah walked down the town's sleepy lanes at a leisurely pace. She wasn't in a rush to get to her grandparents' house and this relaxing walk wasn't the sort of thing she got to do often while living in London. Those streets were too crowded, even just within Diagon Alley. Here, though, Hannah could take her time on the narrow roads, could breathe in the jasmine scented air and appreciate the quaint architecture that was dotted throughout the village. It was a novelty of sorts, taking walks like these through this particular town. Sure, she had done so when she was very young and visiting her father's family, but those days were long gone. Besides, the majority of the time that Hannah had spent in Godric's Hollow was in the year following her mother's murder, when her father and she had been holed up in her grandparents' home and she was basically barred from ever leaving their property. Her little room on the second floor of the Abbott house had a window that looked down onto these streets, but that was as close as she got to them then. Remembering those days flooded her with gratitude for the fact that she could walk down these lanes freely now.

She came to the town's small square and her eyes drifted to the faux war memorial that stood in its center. Her breath caught when its appearance shifted, the obelisk giving way to a statue of three figures: the Potter family. Hannah paused. She was across the street from it, but the sculpture was large enough that she could still see every detail. When she was very young Hannah had been completely enamored by the statue. Back then it had looked to her like a simple, happy scene of a little family, the grim history behind it still going over her head at the time. Now she felt a catch in her throat. She stayed focused on the figure of the baby, his smiling face. It was still hard to believe that that was Harry, the same Harry she'd known for so long, the one whose birthday she'd celebrated barely more than a week before. The subject of Harry's infamous childhood had always been a tricky one for Hannah, and for most of their former classmates too. It was a shifty sort of topic, one that could transform before their eyes in a second, going from just some background knowledge to a looming matter that was of the utmost importance. Whatever form it was in, Hannah had always felt bad for Harry. Her cheeks started to burn as she recalled the time when Ernie had her convinced that Harry must've been the heir of Slytherin, must have been the one causing so much trouble and violence at school. Those days had been so confusing, and Hannah had merely been trying to trust her friend, however looking back she couldn't help but want to scold her younger self for her foolishness. How naïve she'd been.

The sound of laughter spilled out from the nearby pub, breaking Hannah out of her thoughts. She trudged on, reaching up to pull her hair off of her neck. It was warm out, and made even warmer by her heavy, collared dress. If she had it her way, Hannah would've been in shorts, or at the very least one of the dresses she'd gotten with Susan a few weeks before. However her grandmother always insisted that their Sunday dinners were not casual affairs, and to wear anything that affronted that status was an insult to the family. She'd discussed it with her father before, but he always used the fact that these dinners only happened on a biweekly basis as a defense. Hannah didn't much see the point of trying to create any semblance of formality amongst people who had all lived together, but she never really pushed about it. Her father wasn't in a place to handle that sort of confrontation, and he hadn't been for a long time.

The large stone cottage that belonged to the Abbotts sat on a corner, only a block over from the town square. It wasn't huge by any means but its placement amongst the tiny houses that made up the majority of Godric's Hollow gave the illusion that it was a mansion. The front garden, a shock of color against the house's neutral-toned facade, stood in neat rows of flowers and shrubs that were trimmed to perfection. Hannah couldn't help but frown as she walked through it though. She had preferred the way it looked during the war, when it had been left mostly unattended and grew freely. It had been nothing but life run rampant then.

The eyes of the owl-shaped doorknocker stared as Hannah approached.

The door creaked open after only the second knock.

"You're late," Miriam Abbott said, looking her granddaughter up and down as she entered the house.

Hannah checked her watch, "Am I?" It was 4:28, and she was supposed to get there at 4:30 sharp, which by her grandmother's standards actually meant 4:25. "Sorry Grandma."

"It's alright dear," Miriam said. Her eyes coasted over Hannah's appearance, a tight smile on her face.

"She's not late, Mirie," a deep voice shouted from the sitting room as both Abbott women approached. Hannah immediately spotted her grandfather sitting back comfortably on the ornate loveseat, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He sat up a bit as his wife settled back in next to him on the dark blue, velvet cushion. Hannah sat on one of the chairs that was positioned diagonally from them, taking in the image of her grandparents. Miriam and Cyril Abbott made an interesting pair to look at. She was a slender but strong witch of above-average height, meanwhile he was a stout man who stood just below average. Where Miriam's mouth was oftentimes drawn in a tight line, Cyril's usually perked up at the corners. In fact their faces were a study in contrasts, with hers composed of sharp lines and clean angles while his was all rounded edges and soft turns.

"Hello, Grandad," Hannah said.

He winked at her, offering a large smile.

"You could have apparated straight to the garden, or used the Floo, you know," Miriam said, pushing a curled tendril of her bobbed, brown hair behind her ear.

"Honestly, Mirie, leave the girl alone. Mike isn't even here yet, and he lives here," Cyril interjected.

"Dad's not home?" Hannah asked. That was odd. He'd been living with his parents ever since her mother's death and, to her knowledge, didn't leave the house much aside from work.

"He said he was going into the office," Miriam said.

Hannah shared a glance with her grandmother and an agreement formed between them: something was not right.

"Oh, none of that," Cyril said, waving a hand between the two women. He heaved himself up from the couch. "I'm getting something to drink. Would either of you like anything?"

"No thank you," his wife said, frowning at him.

"I can just come with," Hannah said, standing to follow her grandad.

When they made it into the kitchen Hannah was hit with the strong smell of chicken and vegetables roasting in the oven. A pie was assembling itself on the counter, blackberries filling in the crust in a single file line from their carton, and pots and pans stirred themselves occasionally on the stove. Hannah had always admired her grandmother's knack for household spells, and the sight of this familiar scene warmed her heart.

Her grandfather got two glasses down from a cabinet and Hannah moved to the pantry, retrieving the large bottle of sparkling water that was always kept just inside.

"Thank you, my dear," Cyril told his granddaughter as she filled both of their cups.

"Of course," Hannah said. She kissed his cheek before putting the bottle away.

Cyril sighed, his hazel eyes narrowing just the slightest bit. "You know," he said, "I don't think that your grandmother would be so strict with you if she weren't so worried."

Hannah sipped her drink, not meeting his eyes. She wrinkled her nose as the fizzy water sent bubbles flying onto it.

"Both of us worry, about you and your father, but especially you." He reached out to pat Hannah's cheek. "You're still so young, and you've been through too much."

She frowned, moving away from her grandfather's touch. "So has everyone I know."

"The severity of others' pain doesn't affect that of your own," he argued.

It was a rehearsed line, something he'd told her countless times before. Hannah's grandfather had always been the most emotional person she'd known, and he never failed to at least attempt convincing others to follow his lead.

They went back into the sitting room, arriving just as Hannah's father stepped out from the fireplace.

"Hello darling," he said brightly as soon as he saw Hannah. He set his briefcase down on the hearth and moved to embrace his daughter.

"Hi, Dad." After pulling back Hannah looked him over, searching for any signs of harm, both external and internal. The lines on his face were deep, but no worse than they had been the last time she saw him, and if anything he looked more truly awake than he had in months. She'd grown accustomed to seeing him with dark circles of weariness and a faraway look in his eyes, but neither of those things were there at the moment.

"Michael, you're getting soot on the rug," Miriam said.

"Sorry, Mum," he said, sweeping back the robe he wore over his slacks and shirt and revealing the dust and dirt it had dragged from the fireplace. He struggled to extract his wand from his pocket before pointing it down at the mess. " _Scourgify_ ," he said, but his voice wobbled. A few bits of dirt rolled around, and a couple even disappeared, but the mess was mostly unchanged.

Watching him struggle, Hannah felt her throat constrict. "Let me," she said. Her voice came out quietly, but there was no need to worry about being heard—the whole world seemed silent.

Cyril reached up to put his hand on his son's shoulder, slowly guiding Michael away.

Hannah pulled out her wand and kneeled down by the mess, quietly casting the same charm her father had attempted. The soot vanished.

"Before you boys disappear," Miriam said, rushing after her son and husband, "Give me your robe, Michael. Hannah can take it upstairs with your case."

He did as he was told. As he handed the garment over he told his daughter, "There's a letter on my dresser for you."

"Okay," Hannah said. She knew what he meant. _There's a letter from Nana in there. I didn't want to upset my parents with it though._

The two sides of Hannah's family had never really had a relationship with one another. It was complicated, to say the least, attempting to bridge the gap that spanned between her mother's non-magical relatives and her father's family, one of the longest respected and, until relatively recently, pure-blood families of the wizarding world. Things had only gotten worse after her mother's death, and then her time spent in Belfast. Ever since she'd come back it had been hard to even mention her Nana, her maternal, Muggle grandmother, in front of the elder Abbotts. Miriam was especially sensitive about it. While Cyril had been sad to see his granddaughter leave for that time in the Muggle world, Miriam had been incensed. Hannah couldn't blame them, but it was upsetting that they seemed to place the blame on Nana, instead of on Hannah herself.

After hanging her father's robe back up in the wardrobe and placing his briefcase on the foot of his bed she took stock of his room. It was clean, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Neither of her grandparents were above coming into the room and tidying it while their son was at work. They'd do anything to take care of him. _And you,_ Hannah thought to herself. That was her logic speaking, but the words never quite made it to her heart.

Something caught her eye on the shelf above her father's dresser. She moved over to investigate, only half noticing the letter that did indeed lay on the dresser's surface. A picture frame was lying facedown on the shelf, its stand pressed flat to make it almost invisible against the dark wood surface. Hannah picked it up, her breath catching when she saw the image it held. The photograph was of her family when Hannah was young. The three of them stood in the yard of their old home, smiling. Hannah's parent's had their arms around each other's waists while Hannah stood in front of them, somewhere around eight years old and giving a toothy grin, her hair in pigtails. In the picture both of her parents reached out and each placed a hand on Hannah's shoulders. Looking at it now, Hannah was struck by the perfect stability of the gesture. No wonder she'd felt so off-balance for years now.

Bile rose in Hannah's throat. Why had her father put this down like that? Surely it had to be him. Her grandparents never would have done that. They still had pictures of her mother downstairs, didn't they? She hadn't noticed earlier, but she would have to look for them on the way out. She took a shaky breath and looked around the room. It was the only picture in there. Had there been more photos before? Hannah couldn't say. She looked back down at the picture, at her mother's face. Suddenly she couldn't stand to look at it either. She placed the frame back on the shelf just how she'd found it, snatching her letter and fleeing the room.

Her fingertips brushed over the stamps on the envelope repeatedly as she made her way to her old bedroom, which didn't quite help to calm her down. The stamps were small reminders of the gap that existed between the two worlds that made up Hannah's life, so foreign to one but necessary to the other. Muggle mail couldn't even be delivered to the Leaky Cauldron, which was why Nana always sent Hannah mail by way of her father. Once she was in her room, Hannah sat on the edge of the old twin bed. The bedsprings creaked under her while she cast a charm to slit the envelope open neatly, revealing several folded sheets of paper. Her grandmother's looping scrawl filled each one with green ink.

 _My sweetest girl_ , the letter started before chronicling all sorts of news from the entirety of Hannah's family in Northern Ireland. There was talk of her younger cousins' new interests, her Uncle Robbie's promotion, and Nana's own stories from a day trip she took with a good friend. It was all so simple sounding, and so nice. The panic that had struck Hannah faded while she read.

There was only one paragraph left when her father stuck his head into the room.

"How's Nana?" he asked.

"Good," Hannah told him, suppressing the image of the upended frame. "She went to Giant's Causeway and says that it looked like a different world." She bit her lip, weighing her options before adding, "Apparently the texture of the ground reminded her of Mum's old dragon-hide gloves."

He smiled at her, but a moment later it was gone. Avoiding Hannah's eyes he cleared his throat and said, "Dinner is almost ready. You're sorely missed downstairs."

"I'll be right there," she said, turning back to her letter.

"Now, Hannah," her father insisted.

Hannah stared at him, but he still wouldn't meet her gaze. Her cheeks felt hot, blood rushing to them as the hurt swept over her.

A retort sat on the tip of her tongue, longing for release. But she knew those words couldn't come out. She loved her father too much for that, had too much appreciation for all that he'd done for her. But still, resentment and bitterness swelled in her chest as she put the letter back into its envelope, which was then slipped into her pocket with her wand. She followed her father down the stairs, frowning at the back of his head the whole way.

Hannah kept quiet during dinner. Conversation happened around her, mostly between Miriam and Cyril. Every time that Hannah thought they might be about to direct something her way she would take another bite. It was childish, sure, but the food was a good as ever and frankly it felt nice to eat instead of talking. Her grandparents shot worried looks her way throughout the meal, brows furrowed, but Hannah merely gave quick smiles in response. As long as they thought she was okay, what did it matter? She just needed to get to the end of the night.

Her father barely even glanced in her direction.

After dinner was over and they'd all had their fill of the blackberry pie, Hannah expected to help her grandmother with the dishes, like she usually did. Instead, her grandfather stopped her.

"Why don't your father and I take over tonight?" he said instead.

Hannah watched as he exchanged a glance with her grandmother, and as her father's head shot up, his expression puzzled by this change of course. She scowled. "I could help, Grandad. Honestly, I don't mind—"

"You do enough of this at work," he insisted. His mouth was missing its characteristic smirk. Instead, his already thin lips were pressed into a tight line.

Hannah watched as he stood and eyed her father. That made Michael stand up as well, pulling out his wand.

"Perhaps it'd be better to—" but Cyril cut off, allowing his son to attempt this with magic.

Miriam caught Hannah's eye and the two of them went back to the sitting room. Hannah was going to take a seat in her normal chair, but her grandmother motioned for her to sit on the loveseat with her, taking Cyril's usual spot. When they had both settled in Miriam stared at her granddaughter for what felt like an eternity. Hannah tried not to look away, knowing that it would be a dead giveaway that something was wrong. Instead she took stock of all of the features of her grandmother's face. She marveled at how, despite the fact that Michael carried many of his mother's features, Hannah had inherited practically nothing from her grandmother, at least in the way of looks. She looked much more like Granddad, with her round cheeks, soft chin, and hazel eyes. The only thing that she knew she'd gotten from Miriam was her mouth, the full bottom lip and pronounced cupid's bow. She was looking there when her grandmother finally spoke.

"What happened upstairs?"

Hannah swallowed with difficulty. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Miriam practically rolled her eyes. There was a sound of dishes clinking against each other from the other room. She paused, waiting for it to stop before speaking in a hushed tone. "You've barely spoken two words since you went up there," she said. "Do you really think Grandad and I are that daft?"

"Of course not!" Hannah said, earning a _shush_.

Her grandmother's eyes darted to look over Hannah's shoulder at the doorway to the kitchen. After a moment, pleased that they hadn't been overheard, she looked back at the girl in front of her.

Her gaze felt like a weight hung around Hannah's neck, making the girl want to hang her head down.

"Tell me, please, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Hannah said, spitting the words out before she had even consciously decided to say them.

Miriam took Hannah's hands in her own. "Is everything alright with Mary?"

"Yes, Nana's doing perfectly well," Hannah said. She wanted to sound mad, or at least annoyed at her grandmother's insistence, but it was all she could do to merely keep her voice steady. Miriam must have been genuinely, extremely concerned to think that something had gone wrong with the other side of Hannah's family, let alone to check in about it.

"Then what's going on?"

Hannah didn't know what to say. She didn't want to create more concern about her father than what already existed. She didn't want to admit to feeling betrayed and bitter and fifty other ugly things. Right then, she didn't want to feel or think about anything.

Perhaps luckily, she ended up not having to.

A large crash came from the kitchen, along with a loud swear from Cyril. Miriam was up in an instant, rushing into the other room. The desire to disapparate right then and there flooded Hannah. She resisted, though. Her grandparents obviously understood that something was wrong with her, and pulling a stunt like that would only make it worse. Besides, they had protective spells placed on their property that didn't allow for apparition inside the house. She also couldn't bear to go into the kitchen, to find out for herself what had happened. She already knew, probably. It was most likely another failed use of magic by her father, who had once been a top Charms student and who practiced Transfiguration in his spare time. But Hannah forced herself to not think about that. If she did, she'd open the floodgates for all of her feelings regarding her father and what was left of their family, and she didn't know if she could take that.

Eventually, her grandfather emerged with a covered dish in his hands.

"What's that?" Hannah asked, standing to vacate his spot.

"The rest of the pie," he said. "Grandma thought you might like to take it with you."

Hannah frowned. Was this their way of just asking her to leave early?

"We know that there are cooks at the inn, of course, but you know Mirie has never been much of a fan of what they make there. Especially that old bat, what's her name?"

"You want me to take the pie?" Hannah asked.

Her grandfather let out a sigh, his broad shoulders heaving a bit as he did so. "I think it'd be best if we called it a night. You father is a little…overwhelmed, at the moment."

Hannah wasn't sure what that meant, but she also didn't much want to find out.

"Okay," she said. She moved in for a hug and her grandfather wrapped one arm around her tightly.

"We love you," he told her.

"I love you too," Hannah said. She took the pie dish from and moved to the fireplace. Her grandfather opened their canister of Floo powder and held it out for her.

Her stomach was in knots the whole way back to the Leaky Cauldron, but Hannah knew it wasn't from the travel. Something was wrong.

* * *

Author's Note: In _Deathly Hallows_ , Harry sees a headstone with the name Abbott on it in the graveyard where his parents are buried in Godric's Hollow. I went ahead and used that as a basis for believing that maybe Hannah's family has a history of living there.

Thank you so much for reading! Super special thanks to turquoise-eyelashes for giving me so much support and encouragement! Next chapter should be up sometime in the next two weeks.


	9. Doubt

Author's Note: So much for two weeks... I'm so sorry I disappeared! Real life stuff caught up to me and I've had to put my focus in other areas, but I'm back now. And with the longest chapter so far! Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

A thick layer of dirt lay caked onto Neville's forearms, pulling at the skin and the hair that it covered every time he moved. Neville ignored it as best as he could, focusing instead on properly relocating his sick Mimbulus mimbletonia into a larger pot. The pressure to do this correctly, to be gentle as he handled this life, wore into his shoulders, which hunched with enough tension to make him sure that they would ache later. But that was a small price to pay. This last ditch effort to save his plant had to work. In his mind, it alone stood between Neville's personal success and the last resort of asking his former professor for help.

The plan consisted of five parts: give the Mimbulus mimbletonia more room, make sure its roots were spread, place it in fertilizer enriched soil, water twice a day, and leave it in direct sunlight. Each step comprised a basic technique to keep any plant, magical or not, alive. Neville hoped that that fact would make this work and might prove to be the missing piece to saving his plant once and for all. Thus far he'd focused so much on the fact that this was a magical organism with specific properties and abilities when, maybe, he just needed to treat it like he would any other plant.

He worked in the corner of his grandmother's sunroom. The large windows that made up all but the room's interior wall created the most greenhouse-like environment he had access to. Warm light could get in from sunrise to sunset, a vast improvement over Neville's east-facing bedroom windows that lost most direct sunlight by midday. He had been nervous to ask Gran for permission to set up this little worktable there, but she gave him a pleasant surprise with her quick allowance of it. It wasn't that Gran had been hostile ever since the debacle of the morning after Harry's birthday party, that wasn't the right word to describe it. She just met Neville's eyes less, spoke more stiffly around him, and failed to call him down for dinner a few nights. He took all the blame for that last one, though, given that they always ate dinner at five o'clock sharp. But time had been getting away from Neville more and more as of late, slipping his mind and passing at what seemed to be an accelerated pace.

This thought made Neville look down at his watch. Dirt covered its face so he had to brush his hand on his trousers before trying to wipe it off as well.

"Damn," he said, his hands immediately going back to the dirt to finish packing it in around the Mimbulus mimbletonia's base. It was already 4:25, and he had agreed to be at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions at 4:30.

After a quick casting of _Aguamenti_ , Neville rushed inside to wash off his hands in the kitchen. He was patting them dry when his grandmother entered the room.

"What are you hurrying for?" she said.

"I've gotta go, Gran," Neville said.

She arched one of her thin eyebrows. "Wherever to? Do you have a job I haven't heard about?"

That stopped him like a blow to the stomach, but only momentarily. Neville bit back the urge to respond. He didn't have anything to say anyway, but he wished he did. Instead he pulled his wand out of his pocket, grasping it tightly as he turned on the spot and apparated away.

Neville gasped for breath when he arrived, partially due to the relief that his chest could expand again but also with the shock of running directly into a rack of robes that promptly fell over.

"The shop is closed for a private group!" Madam Malkin shouted.

Neville was trying to right the large, metal rack, and so didn't respond.

"It's alright," he heard Harry say. "He's with us."

A moment later Ron was there and helping Neville put the robes back in their proper place. "Thanks," Neville told him. He turned to address the room at large, his face hot all over. "Sorry!"

He and Ron walked over to join their friends where they stood with Madam Malkin and two seamstresses, all in their mauve uniform robes. Neville was a bit surprised to see Ginny and Hermione.

"Your trousers are covered in dirt," Ginny said, just as Hermione asked, "What happened to you?"

"Working with my old Mimbulus mimbletonia," he said. "I wasn't expecting you two to be here."

"Well I want a say," Ginny said. She scowled before adding, "And Mum insisted that either she or Hermione had to come and make sure everything stays on track."

"That makes me feel very welcome," Hermione said with a smirk. "Thanks Ginny."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but offered a warm smile to the other girl. "You know I like having your opinion anyway."

"Speaking of," Madam Malkin said, seemingly perturbed at having lost control of her shop and the appointment. "What style is it that you'd like to start with?"

Harry and Ginny shared a look. "Simple," Harry said.

"Going to need a bit more than that," Malkin said.

Ginny frowned, glancing around the shop more. Hermione seemed to notice and spoke up.

"Perhaps we could look around a bit? Just to get an idea of what our options are," she said to Madam Malkin.

"Of course," the squat, older witch replied. Something in her tight smile and rigid posture suggested to Neville that she may have been regretting shutting her shop down for his friends. Nevertheless, Madam Malkin motioned towards a rack of dark gray robes and Harry and Ginny followed her deeper into the store, the two attendants trailing behind them.

Ron watched them go. "That's alright," he said to the large group's back. "We'll manage on our own."

Hermione sighed, turning to some of the racks near them that displayed black robes with patterns woven into them. "I wish Ginny would be more organized about all of this, helping her plan is making me a bit mental."

"Has it really been that bad?" Neville asked.

He wasn't sure how this stuff usually went, but he figured there couldn't be that many decisions to make. But then again, he hadn't been involved in any of the planning either.

Ron shot him a warning look. "Don't get her started mate. She could spend an hour just ranting about picking out bridesmaids dresses."

"That's selling me short, Ron," Hermione said. She turned back to look at him with a smirk. "We both know I ranted for much longer than that when I told you about it."

Ron didn't respond, but Neville thought he saw him wink at his girlfriend.

"So," Neville said, wanting to move past that moment as quickly as possible, "You and Luna got your dresses?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "After five hours in the shop during which we tried on approximately thirty dresses each."

"Wow," Neville said.

"It wouldn't have been so difficult, but Ginny fell in love with a couple of gold dresses that she decided we couldn't wear because she'd worn gold at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Then nothing even compared until we found a couple of really pretty crimson ones. It just took forever to get there. Even Luna was getting annoyed."

"Really?" Neville asked.

"Took me by surprise too," Ron said.

He shared a look with Hermione. She raised an eyebrow and Ron nodded once. Neville started to wonder how Harry had been able to stand their silent conversations for so long.

"Speaking of Luna," Hermione said, not meeting Neville's eye but instead seeming to be focused on his left earlobe. "We were wondering, how are you feeling about all of this? Being in a wedding with her and all?"

"Fine," Neville said. Honestly, he hadn't even given it much thought. They were friends who were helping to celebrate their other friends getting married, what did it matter? But they had been together, he'd kissed her and felt her body and even if it had never quite amounted to actually dating that all still had to count for something, right? Now, with Hermione and Ron's combined focus on him, Neville's mind flashed to an image of himself and Luna walking down an aisle together, albeit with her in crimson rather than white. A twinge of regret stuck in his throat, as he again wondered if they'd made the right decision to stop seeing each other romantically. At the time they'd both been so sure, but the lonely unsteadiness that had characterized the intervening years for Neville had left him struggling to balance on a cracked and weathered foundation. In a state like that, it was easy for questions and doubt to sneak in.

"You're sure about that?" Ron asked, breaking Neville out of his reverie.

Hermione elbowed her boyfriend softly in the ribs.

"Yeah," Neville said. When he saw that they still weren't convinced he added, "I mean, it might be kind of weird, but it's not about us. Besides, we won't even have to walk together, right? We should be paired up with you two." Neville's minute knowledge of weddings made him feel somewhat confident in that statement. He seemed to remember that groomsmen escorted bridesmaids in the order that they lined up by the alter, meaning that Luna would walk with Ron, as maid of honor and best man.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, that's how it should go." She frowned at him. "Promise you'll let us know if you feel uncomfortable? That way we can run interference."

"Honestly, I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing to worry about. Luna and I are great friends," Neville said.

"Friends who haven't dated anyone else since you broke up two years ago," Ron pointed out.

Neville felt at a loss. Did Ron have a point? Was it suspicious that they both seemingly hadn't moved on? Neville hadn't exactly been in a place to date since they'd broken up. First Auror training had taken up all of his time, as he attempted to settle into his position in the ranks, and then he'd made his life completely unstable by leaving that position. But was there a reason why Luna hadn't dated? Was she having thoughts like this too?

Before those thoughts could completely entangle him, Ginny reappeared.

"Have you not been looking?" she asked them, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Er, no," Neville said.

Hermione quickly followed up, "Sorry, we were sidetracked talking. How has it been going for you?"

"Well luckily we've got plenty of options picked out already," she said, directing her attention to Ron and Neville. "You two need to go back and start trying things on. Harry's already started."

The rest of their time at the shop was spent in the back corner, where there were fitting rooms and two platforms that stood in front of mirrors. The boys were constantly in and out of the fitting rooms, trying on different styles of dress robes that the girls, sitting on chairs set up by the platforms, would either reject or ask to see on the other two.

"Don't we get a say?" Ron asked at one point while he was paraded out wearing black dress robes with some odd gray patchwork near the hem.

Ginny shrugged. "Harry does."

"Well, then," Ron called in the direction of Harry's fitting room, "D'you think you could say that this one looks manky?"

"Ron," Hermione chided, giving an apologetic look to Madam Malkin.

Ron seemed to realize his misstep then too, turning to the shop's proprietor and apologizing in a hushed voice, his head bent low.

For his part, Neville couldn't quite blame Ron. Those robes, and many of the others that the shopkeeper attempted to push on them, looked quite questionable. And the whole act of being dressed in these sample clothes and then paraded in front of the girls and Madam Malkin made him feel like a piece of cattle that was up for auction. Or, as he was told to stand on a platform and spin so the robes could be seen from various angles, like some odd living mannequin.

"I'd like to remind you that four of us have to be at the Burrow for dinner by seven or you mum will kill us all," Harry told Ginny on one of his rounds wearing a new option.

"I know," Ginny said.

Finally they had all three boys line up wearing the favorite styles. Neville honestly couldn't see much difference amongst them, they all seemed like basic black dress robes to him. But apparently Ginny and Hermione could see a difference, and they sat with their heads close together speaking rapidly, comparing the options.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Ginny told her. She pointed to Harry. "Those are our favorite, what do you guys think?"

"They're great," Ron said immediately.

"Perfect," Neville added.

"I've never loved any dress robes more," Harry said.

Hermione let out a trill of laughter while Ginny rolled her eyes at them, albeit with a wide smile on her face.

"How splendid," Madam Malkin said.

Since there were only two platforms only two of the boys could have their measurements taken at a time. Neville took a seat next to Ginny while the seamstresses set to work, their measuring tapes flitting about Harry and Ron's bodies as they jotted down the numbers.

"You're welcome to come to dinner with us, by the way," Ginny told Neville. "Mum loves you."

A smile crept onto Neville's face, but he shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass." He really liked the Weasleys, but there were a lot of them, and if there was one thing he'd learned in the past year it was that large groups of people meant large amounts of questions, mostly of the sort that he was trying to avoid. _Just look at Harry's birthday party_ , he thought, _that was a sea of questions_.

"Do you have other plans?" Ginny asked. She smirked at him, an eyebrow raised conspiratorially. "Going to the Leaky Cauldron perhaps?"

"No," Neville said, confusion clouding his mind for a moment before understanding dawned. He felt his face warm as he thought of Hannah and the morning they'd spent together.

Ginny looked down at her fingernails, feigning subtlety. "I just thought, after your overnight stay, that you might be even more welcome there than usual."

"It's not like anything happened," Neville said, his voice a harsh whisper. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed their conversation. Luckily, it seemed like everyone was more engrossed with the dress robes. Even Hermione and Madam Malkin were talking while watching Ron get measured. "You didn't seriously think something would happen when you sent me off with her, drunk and ready to pass out and—you didn't did you?"

"If by 'something' you mean sex, no of course not," Ginny said. "But that doesn't mean that it couldn't have been interesting in some other way."

"Hannah ended up having to give me her bed," Neville said. "She slept on a chair she transfigured. Do you know how bad I felt?"

Ginny frowned. "Well, that sucks, but did you guys talk the next morning at least?"

"What are you playing at, Ginny?"

She shrugged. "Hannah's a nice girl, that's all." Ginny held his gaze as if he was supposed to have a response to that, which he definitely did not have. "A pretty girl, too," she pressed, "who you kept looking at during the birthday party."

"I did?" Neville asked. Hannah hadn't told him that, but maybe she just hadn't noticed? Hope ballooned in his chest, clutching at that possibility and attempting to ignore the idea that she had seen him but simply didn't want to address it.

Ginny gawked at him, like she thought he was telling a bad joke. "All I'm getting at," Ginny said, her hand squeezing his shoulder, "is that it wouldn't be so bad for you and a nice, pretty girl to have some time together."

"Am I that pathetic?" Neville asked. What was it about wedding planning that had placed a big spotlight on him and his lack of a romantic relationship? He was starting to long for questions about what he wanted to do for his career.

"Of course not," Ginny said, glaring at him for even suggesting such a thing. "I just want you to be happy."

Neville frowned. He had a lot going on that was keeping him from happiness, and his lack of girlfriend didn't seem like the biggest. Of course, he had purposefully avoided talking about any of that with his friends, so he couldn't blame Ginny for following that lead. "Thank you," he said. He met her eyes and tried to show her that he meant it.

"Of course," Ginny said. She smirked again. "You do think she's pretty, don't you?"

Neville groaned, falling heavily against the back of his chair.

For the rest of his time waiting to be measured, Neville dodged questions from Ginny regarding Hannah. He told her a little about their morning together, that she got him breakfast and that they talked for a while, but he didn't go into much detail. A lot of the smaller moments were things that he still wanted to go over in his own brain first, to figure out exactly how he felt, because Ginny was right, Hannah was a very nice and very pretty girl. He'd meant to do that thinking over the past week but had gotten so wrapped up, first in attempting to appease his grandmother and then in his efforts to finally save the Mimbulus mimbletonia, that that intent had gotten lost in the maze of his thoughts.

The seamstress working with Ron finished first. As Neville took his place on the platform he couldn't shake the new wave of doubt that his conversation with Ginny had set off. Now his throat felt tight as he thought about that morning with Hannah, going over every memory, searching for any hints of attraction from himself or, especially, from her. However, rather than finding any evidence of infatuation, his mind instead snagged on other details. Things like the absent look on Hannah's face as she'd held her wand up ready to hex him, or the pout of her lips when she'd mentioned her mother. He thought about how large that bottle of pain-relief potion had been, about how her whole life was crammed into one room, and about how she'd admitted that she was glad to have his company. That last one might have counted as a sign of attraction, but it loomed in Neville's mind as something much larger and lonelier. A dull ache started in his chest as he thought about it.

When he and his friends finally left Madam Malkin's, Neville actually did want to go to the Leaky Cauldron. For whatever reason, the thought of doing that, of using dinner as an excuse to see Hannah again, made the ache go away. He said goodbye to his friends, who disappeared with a flurry of loud pops as they all apparated to the Burrow, and then ventured into the crowded lanes of Diagon Alley alone.

The pub was relatively quiet when he got there, at least it was nothing like a Friday night. People sat eating and drinking with a steady buzz of conversation flowing around the room, but it was a cozy sort of crowd, not the raucous masses he'd experienced before. Neville approached the bar, his eyes scanning the place. He didn't see her, and the only people who seemed to be working were Tom and another wizard who looked to be in his late twenties. The desire to leave before he made a fool of himself flooded Neville's body, bringing a slightly queasy feeling to his stomach. He tried to ignore it, however, and made himself sit down on one of the empty barstools. Logically, he knew that Hannah could still be working and that sticking around doing the completely normal act of eating dinner was the reasonable thing to do. But, then again, logic didn't stand much of a chance against the doubt that stormed through his thoughts.

The unknown waiter came over and took Neville's order. While he waited for his food to arrive Neville scanned the room but also tried to keep an eye on the door to the kitchen. He still didn't see her. Neville laughed quietly to himself as he thought of what it'd be like to tell Ginny about this trip to the Leaky Cauldron.

When the waiter placed a steaming cottage pie on the bar in front of Neville he asked him, "Do you want to keep a tab open or just pay now?"

"Now's fine," Neville said. He paid and kept his head down while he ate, the hope of being able to feign an accidental encounter having flickered out.

He was so sure that Hannah would never appear that when she finally did he almost missed it. He didn't see the green flames arise in a fireplace on the near wall, he didn't see the tears that were silently streaking down her face or her effort to discreetly wipe them away when she stepped onto the hearth. He did finally look up when he saw a streak of blonde hair pass near him, though, however stupid he may have felt for the rekindling of his hope. His body went rigid with the discovery that it had indeed been Hannah, dressed in an unseasonably heavy black dress with her hair hanging down loosely, shadowing her face.

"Hannah!" he called out, spurred on by surprise before he had even decided if he wanted to call out to her. She'd just walked past him, after all, and hadn't bothered to stop and see him. Maybe she didn't want to? He immediately wished that he hadn't said anything when he saw her expression.

Hannah turned to look at him with a heavy frown carved onto her face and bleary looking eyes. The makeup she wore appeared smudged. Her hands held a bulky glass dish with aluminum foil covering it. When their gazes met she opened her mouth, as if to greet him, but no sound came out.

"Hey," he said, trying to offer a smile but feeling like his face had been mangled into something closer to a grimace.

"Hi," she eked out, her voice barely audible.

Neville wanted to recoil, to take back the last ten seconds. She clearly didn't want to talk to him—and here he thought that the humiliating thing would be to show up and not find her. But her eyes were still on him, so he tried again. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm," Hannah started, but stopped to swallow thickly.

Neville saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Her hands tightened their grip on the dish that she held and she took a shaky breath. When she tried to speak again a sob came out, the tears falling and quickly being followed by more. Hannah looked around the pub, as if searching for an exit. Her eyes finally landed on him, and Neville thought that maybe she was asking for help.

He was out of his seat in a second, moving to stand close to her. As he moved, he also looked for a place to go. His eyes caught on the movement of the door to the kitchen as the waiter came out.

"Do you want to go into the kitchen?" Neville asked.

Hannah nodded. Neville's throat felt tight as he watched her body shake with silent sobs. Tears moved down her face with even more rapidity and volume, some landing to pool on top of the foil.

She turned away from him and started for the end of the bar, her head hanging low. For his part, Neville tried to stay as close to her as possible. The fact that he was considerably taller and broader than Hannah was made him hope that maybe people wouldn't be able to see her. But still, if he could've made himself bigger for that walk, he would have.

Once they were behind the bar they slipped silently into the kitchen, only receiving a passing glance from the waiter. Neville was surprised by the size of the room. Compared to the pub it was tiny, and that only seemed to magnify how loud it was, with jazzy music blaring and a constant stream of clanks and bangs coming from the stove where an elderly looking witch worked.

Hannah stood in the corner of the room. She was still sobbing, only now she could do it freely. Neville felt at a loss, but he also realized that at that point there wasn't much he could do to make the situation worse. So he moved closer to her again and gently pried the glass dish from her hands, setting it down on a nearby counter. With her hands free, Hannah wiped furiously at her eyes.

"It's alright," Neville murmured, probably too low to be heard. He tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. When she didn't even react he figured it was okay to do more, so he pulled her towards his body, wrapping both arms around her back. As Hannah cried, Neville glanced around again. The old witch hadn't even seemed to notice them. It didn't feel like enough, to just hold her in a loud kitchen while she bawled, everything in Neville's body told him to do more. But he knew that there wasn't anything else to do. Hannah's crying continued, but seemed less forceful at least. A wet spot appeared where Neville's shirt had collected some of the tears, and he tried to focus on the feel of it. As the intensity of the situation waned, he had become more aware of all the places where their bodies touched, but he didn't want to think about it too much. It seemed scummy of him to do that while Hannah was in such a vulnerable place.

Eventually Hannah pulled away, turning herself away from Neville for a moment. He saw her reach up to wipe her face a few times. When she turned back to him she said, "Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I'm sorry."

Neville bit back a laugh. "You had to drag me here while I was basically blackout drunk," he told her. "Compared to that, this is like you tripping on the street. It's nothing, believe me."

Hannah shook her head but he thought that the corners of her mouth might have tipped up for a moment before she bit her lip. She looked around them and located the dish she'd been holding. "So," she said, reaching out to pick it up, "do you want some pie?"

Neville frowned. That seemed like too quick of a turn around to be humanly possible. Sure, she still looked sad, but did Hannah really think that he'd be able to forget what just happened because she gave him pie?

"I know it's not much of a thank you," she continued, not quite meeting his eyes. "But it's what I've got on hand."

"Okay," he said. Then, after a beat, "And maybe we can talk about what's wrong?"

Hannah stared down at the floor, her arms moving up to hug herself. It took a minute, but finally she said, "Yeah, alright."

She still wouldn't look at him though.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks again for reading! I truly am so grateful to everyone who takes the time to look at my work.

In other news, updates on this story will be happening about once a month for the foreseeable future. While I would love to update this fic more regularly and stick to the every-two-weeks schedule, I don't think it's feasible anymore. Writing these chapters is getting more time consuming as the story progresses, with more elements having to be addressed in each one and more complicated dynamics being explored. So the trade off is that chapters will be longer than they were early on, but it will also take me longer to update. I hope everyone understands! Thanks again for all of the support!


	10. That'll Make Two of Us

Author's Note: A belated happy holidays to everyone! Thank you so much to all who have stuck with this story, even as it looked like I might have left it behind. There are several aspects of this fic that are insanely personal to me, and while at times they have been the biggest propellers to its creation, they've also been the anchors that drag me down. I'm not going to make any promises about when I'll post next, because I honestly don't know, but please trust that I do not intend to leave this fic unfinished—I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Once I got back into it, it was a joy to write.

* * *

"This is really good," Neville said before licking a bit of pie filling off of his fork.

Hannah smiled, "I'll let my grandmother know you said that. She'll like to hear it from someone we're not related to."

They were sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed. The footboard, it turned out, was surprisingly comfortable to lean on, plus it worked well for the pie to rest on the floor between them. Short of transfiguring anything, the bed was the only other place they could've sat next to each other like this and neither one of them had even suggested that as an option. Hannah tried not to focus on that too much, but it persistently popped up in her head. For her, the thought of sitting on the bed with Neville just reminded her of the fact that he had slept in it before. It evoked the way her pillow had smelled the following night—of sandalwood, amber, and something intoxicatingly sweet and earthy that she couldn't quite identify before the scent faded away, but had quite enjoyed while it was there. She pushed it from her thoughts for the millionth time, though, warding off the warmth that those memories brought to her cheeks.

She looked over at Neville again. His eyes were already on hers, and he held her gaze for just a moment before looking away with what she thought, or maybe just hoped, was a smile. The question reared its ugly head: _Why doesn't he want to sit on the bed?_ The immediate idea that presented itself in Hannah's mind was that his reasoning must be similar to hers. Maybe the bed, with all of its connotations, felt like an admission of something. Sitting on a bed with someone who you didn't feel something for was nothing, but to do it with someone who you might be interested in? That was an entirely different world. Of course, Hannah reminded herself, he had seen her sobbing only an hour before, and she hadn't done anything to clean herself up since. Her makeup still sat on her face, smudged and starting to feel more caked on than ever. Why would he feel uncomfortable sitting on a bed with her looking like that?

"Hannah?" Neville asked.

Her attention snapped back to the present, to reality. A furious blush broke out on her chest and neck as she realized that she'd been staring at him the whole time while she thought, even if she hadn't quite been seeing anything, her focus wandering elsewhere and taking up too much of her brain's functionality.

"Yes?" Hannah said. She speared another bite of pie with her fork, just for an excuse to look away from Neville's face. It felt much too much like her thoughts had broken out with that blush, painting her secrets on her skin.

But he didn't say anything, the silence going on for so long that Hannah finally did look at him. He was staring back with a frown on his face, his lips pressed thin. "I don't want to push," he said. "But, are you alright? Before…" He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

Hannah was thankful that she had that forkful of pie, eating it gave her an excuse to put off giving him an answer. On the one hand, she wanted to lie, to say that she'd just had a rough night and move on. But at the same time, there was something about Neville that made her want to tell the truth. Maybe it was because he was nice, a genuinely kind and loyal person who Hannah respected. But also, there was the odd sensation that she didn't need to hide in front of him. They'd already broached the biggest topic of them all—her mother—and even Susan shied away from that. What could it hurt to tell him that her other parental relationship was going to shit? Or that her whole family seemed to be a mess of secrets and lies and unmet expectations about wasted potential? Then again, maybe her mind had just caught in his thick brown hair, which had grown out to be slightly shaggy, or how wide his pale green eyes looked when he stared at her like this.

"I had dinner with my dad and his parents tonight," she said, the words coming out slowly as she weighed each one. "We do it every couple of weeks, but," she stopped short, taking a steadying breath before pushing on, "Tonight just felt extra tense and…messy."

There. That was all true, and it was more than the nothing that she would have said normally. So what if she wasn't giving him full details? There was time for that, and she would get there eventually, especially if he kept giving her that look.

Neville nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. She could've sworn, in fact, that his eyes dipped down to her lips for just a second. It made her bite at them self-consciously, and then she was sure when he looked down to watch. She turned away, not embarrassed, exactly, just flustered. The phrase "butterflies in your stomach" felt a little too accurate.

With another bite of pie, Hannah tried to calm her body down, to stop her heart from knocking so hard against her ribs. Neville took another bite too, his fork scraping on the dish a bit, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Her eyes wandered back to his face but his focus was on his fork, which he twisted between his fingers absentmindedly. His attention slowly turned to her.

"Can I admit something?" he asked.

Hannah nodded. Her attention hung on the right corner of Neville's mouth, where the pie filling had stained his skin.

"My Mimbulus mimbletonia is still dying, and I still haven't contacted Professor Sprout even though I told you I would."

It didn't seem like that big of a confession to Hannah. She appreciated his honesty and all, but couldn't help wondering why his voice sounded so strained. "Okay," she said. The confusion pulled her mouth into a frown.

Neville sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed. "It just...it feels like admitting defeat."

She bit her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Herbology's the only thing I've ever been consistently good at, it's the one skill I thought I could count on and now I don't know if I even have that."

"It's not the only thing," Hannah said, her voice sounding surprisingly snappy. She felt defensive on Neville's behalf, even if it was against his own words. "You've always been incredibly kind and respectful and those are both skills that many other people sorely lack. You were a fantastic and brave leader for the DA."

"Only because Harry wasn't there," Neville said. "And even then it took Ginny and Luna disappearing before I really did anything."

Hannah waved her hand, as if that would dispel his words. "You did plenty while they were there."

"But that's not—" He cut off when Hannah placed her hand on his arm.

"This is all beside the point anyway," she said, attempting to ignore the way his muscles tightened under her fingertips. "We both know that Herbology encompasses plenty of difficult skills. It's not like it's all one thing."

Neville just stared at her, his eyes crinkling slightly on the sides as he processed her words.

"Besides," she said, letting her touch brush slightly along his skin, "I think putting your plant's wellbeing before your ego would be incredibly brave."

"I don't know about that," Neville said. "It would be nice." He moved his arm back, stopping when the tip of Hannah's finger came into contact with the base of his palm.

Her heart raced again. "Bravery and kindness aren't so different."

Neville smiled at her, wide and toothy.

She smiled back.

The silence that had fallen lingered for a moment, but this time it was comfortable, if not a little charged by whatever this exchange between them meant. Hannah shifted her body around, under the guise of fixing her posture, and slipped her fingertips over the edge of Neville's hand.

"Tell me more about your day," he said. His voice sounded so soft, but it had lost the hesitance she'd heard in it with his earlier questions.

"Tell me about yours," Hannah said.

Neville frowned at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes.

"Please?" she said. She thought she heard his breath hitch as she risked allowing her index finger to trace the smallest of circles on his skin. "I'm still building up my nerve, and besides, I don't know anything about what you were doing before I ruined your dinner."

The frown deepened. "You didn't ruin anything. In fact my day dramatically improved when you showed up."

Hannah laughed. "Oh, sure. Nothing makes my day like dealing with someone else's meltdown."

"Okay, maybe not right then, but right now?" His eyes flicked down to her hand on his before returning to her face. "Best part of my day."

She couldn't stop the smile that broke out before it overtook her whole face. An accompanying blush spread out over her cheeks and down her neck, and Hannah had to force herself not to break eye contact—using up some of that small reserve of nerve that she'd been working on. She leaned her head back against the footboard again, in an attempt to hide some of the blush and just to settle in and focus on Neville's voice. "Come on, tell me," she said.

He bit his lip for a moment before conceding. "Well, mostly I was just at home working with the Mimbulus mimbletonia, because it really isn't doing well," he said, a blush working its way onto his face as well. "But I think I'll be writing to Professor Sprout when I get back anyway."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Don't let me force you."

Neville laughed. "Never," he said. "Anyway, then I had to go to Madam Malkin's. I'm in Harry and Ginny's wedding party and they had an appointment today to pick out our dress robes."

"And how did that go?" Hannah asked, a shiver practically running down her spine. She'd never enjoyed going to the robe shop, in fact she had dreaded it before school each year. It was a relief when she'd stopped growing after fifth year and didn't have to return. Being poked and prodded in front of everyone who happened to be in the store at the same time had been like something out of Hannah's nightmares for as long as she could remember.

Neville shrugged, the movement causing his hand and arm to move minutely under her touch. In the back of her mind Hannah realized how silly it was, to sit there all but holding hands, never making a move to complete the gesture. The foreground of her thoughts, however, kept circling how pleasantly comforting the contact already was.

"It wasn't so bad," Neville said. He narrowed his eyes for just a moment before adding, "Although, maybe I can just say that because it's over. I don't know. I certainly never need to do it again."

They fell into silence again. Hannah would have tried to fill it, asking more questions or attempting a joke, anything to hold onto this moment longer, but the look on Neville's face held her back. His thick eyebrows knit together, and the set of his jaw, where a muscle kept tensing, suggested that the moment wasn't over so much as paused until he figured out what to say next.

He took a deep breath and then said, "The worst part actually had nothing to do with the robes. Out of the wedding party, Luna was the only one who wasn't there, and everyone kept asking me about her. If it was weird to be in a wedding with her and all, given…given how we had, err…"

Her body froze in place as her mind raced to figure out the proper reaction to this. On the one hand, Hannah wanted to snatch her hand away from him, to put as much distance as possible between their bodies. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he still had feelings for Luna—they'd been so close for years. And they had sat together that first night in the pub! Susan's words came drifting back to her, _Was it like a triple date or something?_ Maybe it had been. Those six, all noted heroes of the war, it made sense for them to couple up and move on with happy, successful lives. However, a small voice of logic in her head shouted over all of those other thoughts. _If they were still together, or even just liked each other_ , the voice said, _Neville wouldn't still be here, not like this anyway. He's not that kind of guy_. Hannah longed to believe that voice, no matter how small it seemed in comparison to the myriad of other swirling suppositions. Her stomach churned. Unfortunately, her brain usually stored logic in short supply, especially in comparison to raw emotion and sensitivity.

Hannah removed her hand from Neville's.

She hugged herself around her middle. Even after removing the physical contact, though, she couldn't bring herself to look away from him. That urge only got worse when he sucked in a small but sharp breath, the sound almost whistling through his teeth. She followed his gaze down to his hand, which almost looked lonely lying there by itself now. He formed a fist and knocked it against his thigh a couple of times before speaking again.

"It was just annoying," he said, not meeting her eyes anymore. "Because the thing is, it's been so long, so many years, since Luna and I saw each other like that. It was stupid for them to go on about it." He flexed his hand before laying it flat on his leg. "Stupid for me to go on about it too, I suppose."

 _Well shit_ , Hannah thought. She said, "I think that my dad might be trying to forget about my mum or something." The words came out hurriedly, and she half hoped that they might work like a salve for the past few minutes.

Neville's head whipped up. He stared at her, his eyes almost looking wary. "What?" he asked.

Hannah explained about the upturned picture frame, and about her father's harsh reaction when she'd mentioned her mother. "It just doesn't make sense," Hannah said after wrapping up all of the details. "They loved each other so much, I don't understand how he could just…stop." Her voice cracked on that last word, and she swallowed thickly in an attempt to halt any tears before they could come out.

"I doubt that he wants to forget," Neville said. "But grief is weird. Trust me, Gran and I have very different ideas of what to do about my parents but, when it comes down to it, we both still love them." His voice came out all low and soft, somehow managing to sound reassuring rather than patronizing. Hannah thought that maybe there was an undercurrent of Neville's own pain running through it, and that was what made the difference.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring down at his hands in his lap. They both had their legs stretched out before them and the difference in length would have been comical to Hannah at any other time, if they'd only been talking about something, anything else.

After a shaky breath, she continued to explain the situation. "I think the worst part is that I can't even ask him about it," she said. "We all just tip-toe around him and his emotions, because for so long he's barely held it together. He can't…he can't even use magic very well anymore and it's terrifying to watch but if we try to confront him about it he just gets angry or even worse he goes silent and I don't know what we're supposed to do." The tears had started to come now, and Hannah swiped at them angrily. This was her first time telling anyone about this, and she couldn't stand to think that she'd break down before she could even get it all out.

For his part, Neville was looking at her now. She could feel his eyes on her, even as she focused determinedly on the wall that faced them.

"I feel so stupid saying this," Hannah said, choking back a sob. "Because it's obviously untrue and horrible, but sometimes it feels like I lost both of them instead of just Mum." She wiped at her tears, which were rapidly growing in volume. The attempt seemed feeble in the face of their numbers though, so she stopped.

Neville took Hannah's hand in his as she lowered it from her face.

She tried not to focus on his touch, but instead on getting the rest of the words out. "And my grandparents see it too, I know they do, but they don't do anything to fix it. They're so scared of starting a conflict with him, and then instead my grandmother picks at everything I do. Tonight she knew something was wrong but rather than ask him she confronted me and…" Hannah broke off, talking a moment to regain her breath. "I can't even talk to Susan about this," she said. "How selfish would that be? I can't complain about my family problems when most of her family died. It's already horrid of me to complain about my father to you and I just…I just don't know what to do."

"You have every right to be upset, Hannah," Neville said, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

Now she sobbed.

Before she knew it, Neville had moved the pie dish aside and pulled her towards him, enveloping her in his embrace for the second time that night. The scent that had been on her pillow only a couple of weeks before enveloped her as his body did the same.

"You're alright," Neville said. "You're alright, you're alright."

Hannah felt the vibrations of his voice through his chest, where her head and one of her hands lay. Her shoulder was jutted up under his arm, and somewhere in her mind she recognized that it probably wasn't comfortable for him. She attempted to adjust her body against his, but he must have interpreted it as her attempting to pull away. He hugged her tighter.

"You're alright," he said again.

Later, Hannah would appreciate his choice of wording. "You're alright" is miles away from "it's alright." The former addresses the individual while the latter addresses the entire situation at large. Upon reflecting, she appreciated that Neville didn't say that the situation her family found itself in was alright, he didn't even insinuate that any of the things she'd experienced that day were okay. Instead, his focus was on her. And while she may not have really taken it in while sitting on the floor together, Neville's words did manage to sink in deep enough. In the subsequent days, and even hours, Hannah liked the feeling that she might be able to be okay even within all of the messy dynamics and issues.

In the moment, though, all she could do was cry.

Neville just kept telling her, "You're alright. You're alright, Hannah." He started to rub her back slowly as she sobbed against him.

When the sobbing and tears had let up, she pulled away slightly. "I'm sorry," she choked out. She wasn't sure how much time had passed exactly, but the room around them had slowly darkened. Hannah felt ashamed. It wasn't so much for having had another meltdown in front of him, but for the fact that it was lasting so long.

"Don't be," Neville said. He gave her enough room to move, but didn't move his arms away from her.

"I've kept you all evening," she said, sniffling.

Neville chuckled softly. "You've given me pie and conversation. It's actually been one of my better nights in the past few weeks."

Hannah scoffed, but it sounded more like a laugh by the end. She sat all the way up finally, and the movement forced Neville's embrace to fall away. Hannah was sorry for the loss, feeling at once like she'd lost a sort of armor. After wiping at the warm tear-tracks that had formed on her skin she decided to get up. "I'm gonna try to wash this off," she told Neville, gesturing vaguely at her entire face.

"I'll be here," Neville said.

In the bathroom, Hannah tried to take a second to calm her whole body down. She shook out her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, attempting to focus on the hard coolness of the tile on her skin. Her heart was racing, but not in the pleasant, exciting way that it had earlier. Now it felt like her mind had just run some sort of emotional marathon and her body was trying to catch up.

The mirror reflected a less-than complimentary image. Hannah ignored it. She let the water run until it got warm, then splashed it on her face haphazardly. What did it matter if her hair and dress got wet? They were both already a mess. She scrubbed away the stains left by her tears, attempting not to think about Neville, alone in her room. But still, the thoughts came. The doubts about how he must view her now, and the fear of the fact that he knew so much about her family, stampeded through her mind. Hannah took comfort in the fact that they were all slightly fuzzy though, basically harmless compared to what she had felt and thought earlier in the day.

When she was done with her face, Hannah turned to her hair. It looked frizzy and slightly wild, so she restrained it into twin plaits. The familiar, repetitive motion of twisting the blonde strands into place always had a slightly soothing effect on her.

She finally emerged back into her bedroom, and found Neville standing over her desk, taking in the mess that was always there.

"Sorry," he said, backing away from it at once.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. There's nothing important on there."

He smiled. "Well, in that case, what's this?" he asked, holding up a piece of paper she'd abandoned months ago.

Hannah cringed. Even from across the room she could tell that it held a halfhearted painting of a very poorly looking field of flowers. "Watercolor painting," she said. "One of my Muggle aunts is very into crafts and I went through this phase of trying loads of them." She shrugged.

"It's brilliant," Neville said, his focus back on the painting.

Hannah laughed, walking to stand beside him. "Hardly." She looked down on all of the abandoned projects, beading that was half done, sketches that didn't look right, embroidery hoops with threads hanging off. "I'm afraid I was never very good at any of them. It just got very frustrating, because it didn't seem to matter how hard I tired."

"Show me how to do it," Neville said, still staring down at the painting. His eyes were so wide, almost like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It wouldn't occur to Hannah until later that of course he felt like that, as watercolor didn't lend itself to magic, and without any Muggle relatives it was doubtful that Neville had ever seen that loose, free flowing style of art.

"Surely you've got something better to do tonight," she said. It wasn't that she didn't want him to stay, she just didn't want him to feel like he had to—like he had to keep watch over her and make sure that she was okay.

Neville turned to her again, a grin spreading across his face. "I really don't."

"Well," she said, biting her lip for a split second of consideration, "Okay, but it won't be any good. I basically have no clue what I'm doing."

"Then that'll make two of us," Neville said.

As Hannah gathered supplies for both of them, and they settled in on the floor again to start, she tried not to think too much about what it all meant: that night, him staying with her, him holding her earlier. She reasoned that once she started thinking about it, she'd never stop. And she didn't want to be wrapped up in it, not when they were having such a good time, making messes of their papers and laughing as they talked about nothing in particular.

The one thing that kept coming to the forefront, however, was that this night felt like the start of something. Despite how her entire day had gone beforehand, and how much she had cried in front of him, Neville's presence felt like a promise. Of what Hannah didn't know, but the excitement to find out bubbled up inside her anyway.

* * *

Author's Note: Did you guys know that Neville's eye color is never given in canon? At least, not that I could find. Hopefully everyone's all right with what I've chosen. I think there's something kind of poetic about his being a slight variation on Harry's, given the prophecy and all.

Thank you so much for reading and (at least at the time of original posting) happy New Year!


	11. Hauntings and Hope

Author's Note: Well, several mental breakdowns later and I finally have a new chapter for you guys! I hope it's not too late. I also hope that you're all okay with how angsty this gets. And how involved in Herbology it is. Thank you all a million times over for reading and sticking with this story!

* * *

Surreal. That was the only word Neville could think of to describe the feeling that overtook him as he stepped from the green flames and into the Hog's Head Inn. He tried to ignore it, adjusting his grip on the pot that held his Mimbulus mimbletonia, but his chest hurt a bit as he looked around. The place couldn't help but bring back all sorts of memories, both good and bad, resulting in a mixed bag of emotions that left him completely out of sorts.

He stepped onto the hay-strewn floor. A dark, cowardly corner of his mind urged him to just get out of there, to stop thinking about the times he'd fled to this place from the Room of Requirement, desperate for food and supplies and good news. But that wouldn't be the right thing to do. And besides, by agreeing to come and see Professor Sprout at the school, he'd already signed up to face his past that day. Of course, this was different. During his final year at Hogwarts he'd had plenty of time to overcome the memories of wartime that plagued every corner of the castle, and he'd had to in order to successfully complete his schooling. He'd never even tried to revisit this dingy place.

There were only a couple of customers inside the pub that afternoon. One was an ancient looking wizard who stirred his drink compulsively even while giving his full attention to a book that lay open before him. The other patron wore a hood so low over their brow that in the low light Neville couldn't make out any of their features. He remembered hearing that in the months immediately following the war the Hog's Head had seen an upswing in customers, much to Aberforth's chagrin, after the reports of its involvement in the DA's resistance efforts were published. It seemed that the few intervening years had stamped out whatever sparks of interest had arisen.

Neville reached the rough, oak bar. He was just about to sit on one of the mismatched stools when a tall figure ducked through the doorway that led back to the stairs.

"What're you doing here, Longbottom?" Aberforth's bright blue eyes scanned Neville, lingering for a moment on the plant where it was still tucked against his side.

Neville's stomach twisted. It wasn't that he had expected a warm welcome, exactly, but this was hard enough already without the coldness. He cleared his throat. "I've got a meeting with Professor Sprout," he said.

The old man grunted. "Well I don't know the last time Pomona stepped foot in here." He offered a small smile before adding, "Though you wouldn't think she'd mind the dirt."

A chuckle escaped Neville and his spine lost some of its nervous rigidity. "I just wanted to drop in before heading to the castle, to...check in."

"There isn't much to check," Aberforth said, one white eyebrow arched. "Unless you've heard something I haven't."

Neville shook his head.

"Last I heard, though, you went to work for the _Ministry_." The way Aberforth's mouth formed the word suggested an acerbic edge.

"I did," Neville said. Treading lightly seemed like the only appropriate approach to this conversation, for both parties.

Aberforth didn't say anything, but the lines around his mouth deepened with his frown.

It felt like a cork had lodged in Neville's throat. "It didn't, I mean, I didn't—" He cut off to stifle a cough in his fist, wishing that he could just apparate away rather than continue to struggle through this exchange. "It just never felt right," he said, unable to meet Aberforth's eyes.

"Hm." The noise sounded almost involuntary, but also vaguely proud.

Although, Neville considered, maybe that was his own wishful thinking. Regardless, the conversation stalled out there. Neville pulled the Mimbulus Mimbletonia closer to his side, poking one of the boils accidentally and causing it to release a high pitched whine that even made Aberforth jump.

"Watch it, would you? That'll disturb the other customers."

Neville looked up to apologize but found Aberforth grinning back. The elder man laughed when he saw the troubled look on Neville's face. Neville chuckled too, although not for the same reason he assumed Aberforth had. For him, it was in relief, and not just from the fact that he wasn't actually being scolded, but rather because he could now release some of the panic he'd felt at the prospect of having to hold an entire conversation about what had happened with the Auror department. That topic had yet to be delved into with anyone, let alone an old man who he'd only met because of dire circumstances and hadn't really interacted with since.

"Alright there, Neville?" Aberforth asked. And now he did look concerned, those blue eyes piercing and still unnervingly similar to his brother's.

"Fine," Neville said, mustering a smile. In truth, however, his mind was a jumble of thoughts, with the most prevalent being the wish that he had never even gone into the pub. He was already nervous for the meeting, he didn't need to add on the stress of thinking about his failed career, or whatever you could call it. "I should probably go, though," he said. "I'd hate to keep Professor Sprout waiting."

Aberforth's eyes narrowed. "Of course. Well, it was nice seeing you, especially under less stressful conditions." The old man smiled broadly. "You'll have to come by soon, maybe bring some friends. We could all have a drink and reminisce about those horrible old days."

Neville nodded, and tried to return the kindness in Aberforth's current expression. "Yeah, yeah definitely."

And as Neville walked out onto the Hogsmeade high street, he tried to think of that possible future meeting instead of dwelling on the one that had just happened.

In fact, by the time Neville arrived at the castle gates, he actually felt quite proud of how far he'd come. A year ago, he never would have thought of actually going to the Hog's Head. And so what if he wasn't ready to talk about the Aurors? It was only right that he should discuss it with his friends before anybody else heard about his reasoning, or lack thereof. All around, he'd done alright.

In the shadow of the castle's towering gates, however, the warmth of that pride waned. It wasn't the enormous iron gates themselves, but something much smaller, off to the side. Neville's eyes caught on the memorial plaque as soon as it could come into focus, adorning one of the gate's stone columns.

He couldn't recall the exact scene of the day when they had revealed it, those thoughts were just a mess of black clothes and too bright sunlight that couldn't have felt more out of place. The atmosphere of that day, though, was an entirely different story. Staring at that slab of bronze, which had barely tarnished in the three years since its arrival, the same icy discomfort slid into his stomach. He reached out his hand, running his fingers over the embossed names of so many people, some his friends, some strangers, all gone before their time.

"So much for temporary, huh?"

Neville nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oh, sorry Longbottom," Professor Sprout said.

Her cheery round face was such a contrast to the feelings that had swelled inside of him that Neville had difficulty actually meeting her eyes. "Hello, Professor," he said gruffly.

She brushed off this awkward greeting and continued her earlier thought. "Remember how they said this was only supposed to be here until they could make something more significant? You'd think three years is long enough." She shook her head, the frizzy gray hair that poked out from under her hat shaking as well. "After all that's changed, it's too bad the ministry still drags their feet on everything."

Neville shrugged. "This isn't bad," he said. Sure, it wasn't very substantial, but what good would it do at this point to bring in a new memorial? What would that mean? Another ceremony, certainly. More speeches about bravery and sacrifice and gratitude, all of which would miss the most important point: that these people never should have been in that situation in the first place. And there would be more crying. Bringing in some new memorial would just dredge up old problems and feelings that everyone he knew had worked so hard to move past.

Maybe it was just best to leave well enough alone.

Professor Sprout frowned at him, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to the gates and pulled out her wand. With a few twists of her wrist the metal creaked and swung open just enough for them to go through. "Shall we?" she asked. She didn't wait for a response before she started walking briskly towards the castle. "We're heading towards Greenhouse 6, by the way. That's where I have all of the exotic plants now."

"Okay," Neville said, feeling dumb because he couldn't remember where exactly those plants had been kept before.

He had thought that seeing this place wouldn't affect him. He'd spent a year here following the war after all, and made it through that basically unscathed, but as he followed his former professor up that long walk with the castle looming before them, Neville's heart hurt. Even more surprising, that pain wasn't about the memories of battle. Even as they passed the spot where he'd stood as Hagrid approached with Harry's seemingly lifeless body, where he'd hoped against all hope for a continued fight, where he had looked into the deformed face of Voldemort himself, it wasn't those memories that tugged at his chest. What he felt wasn't even sadness exactly—it was more like guilt.

His mind flooded with images of the future he had imagined for himself the last time that he stood on this ground, as he'd left the castle once and for all, having finished his education and chosen a path. Neville's stomach churned. That path, that stupid fucking path that he'd only lasted seventeen months on. The one he'd already dodged questions from Aberforth about, and the memory of which now slapped him across the face with his own failure.

"How's your grandmother?" Professor Sprout asked, turning her head back momentarily to look at him with a raised eyebrow and smirk. "Still wearing that hat of hers?"

Neville changed his grip on the Mimbulus mimbletonia. It felt like bile had risen in his throat. "She's doing well," he said thickly. "Hasn't changed a bit." He thought about who he'd been the last time Sprout had seen him, more than two years before. He thought about how far he'd strayed. _Unlike me_ , he thought.

He didn't dare voice that aloud, though. Neville felt fully aware of what he saw as his own degradation, and didn't need a woman he'd so long looked up to recognizing it as well. The only thing worse than knowing that you've failed, he reasoned, is telling others about it too.

They continued towards the green houses, following the path that led down and around to the castle's left. The Whomping Willow and Hagrid's hut both stood out starkly against the otherwise empty landscape that they passed, with the tree's tendrils being the only things that moved in the occasional afternoon breezes. It occurred to Neville that this was the only time he'd ever seen the castle without other students around, and how lifeless it all seemed. Then his gut heaved again as he remembered that he wasn't the only student there, because of course he _wasn't_ a student at all anymore.

After that, Neville stopped looking around, instead focusing on the crooked tip of Professor Sprout's hat as she continued to walk in front of him.

The hot interior of Greenhouse 6 was more than welcome when they got to it. Neville hadn't anticipated the riot of color and movement that awaited them, the sight of which overwhelmed his eyes such that they couldn't quite focus on anything. It was like a different planet inside of that room. The abundance of life almost completely covered the glass walls, and everywhere he looked Neville found a species that had previously existed in a purely abstract manner to him, only seen within the pages of his books.

Professor Sprout shut the door firmly behind them, and then walked to stand near the head of the worktable, which stood at the center of the room, the only vacant surface. It looked as if she were about to begin teaching, like this afternoon was just another class session. She turned to Neville and said, "Well come on then, let's see it."

He approached the table and set the Mimbulus mimbletonia down in front of the professor. As he pulled his hands away, he let one finger brush gently across the plant's firm flesh, between two of its boils. Sprout went to work, poking around it, looking closely, not even flinching when it let out one of its low wails. Suddenly Neville's throat felt tight, but it wasn't with any of the thoughts that had plagued him outside, there was no room in his brain for those anymore. The possibility that Professor Sprout would give him bad news suddenly felt very real.

"How old is it?" she asked him, continuing her observations.

"I've had it for six years, but it was mature when I got it. My best guess is that it was only about four years old then, though. The boils seemed about the right size for that age according to my reading."

Sprout nodded, pulling on a pair of dragon-hide gloves that made Neville nervous. As if she had read his mind, she looked up and asked him, "You don't mind if I poke around a bit more in-depth, do you?"

Neville shook his head. "No, 'course not." That was, after all, why he'd brought it here. And while he'd seen Professor Sprout be a bit vicious with the more dangerous plants when they would begin to get out of line, she also always went out of her way to be careful that her ministrations didn't harm any plants when it wasn't strictly necessary.

Nodding, Professor Sprout reached under the table to bring up a pail full of equipment, selecting a short lance from the bunch. In one swift motion she poked a boil again, this time with the sharp end of the lance, and collected some of the Stinksap that leaked out on her gloved fingers. Rolling the sap around, Sprout said, "Well, this looks normal. There's a good sign for you." She raised the sap closer to her face, smelling the sticky substance. "Although," she continued, "the odor doesn't seem quite as potent as we'd normally like."

Neville nodded, kicking himself that he couldn't remember whether or not he'd included that information in his letter to the professor asking for this very meeting.

After wiping the sap off onto a rag, Sprout picked up some small sheers, keeping them closed but using the tip to poke the Mimbulus mimbletonia near its middle.

Neville's stomach churned. He could see what she was trying to accomplish and knew exactly what was going wrong, but did that mean that he should correct her? She was a professor, after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was act disrespectfully to Sprout when she was helping him out of pure kindness. After another minute or so of effort without a reaction from the cactus, however, Neville decided to squash his nerves and speak anyway. "A little to the right," he said. His face went red at how high his voice had sounded.

Sprout raised an eyebrow so high that it disappeared into the bushy grey hair that had escaped her hat, but did move the sheers as he had said. "Here?" she asked, the metal point hovering above the plant's flesh.

"About a millimeter lower," Neville answered.

One swift jab in the specified location and all of the boils discharged Stinksap. However, where a healthy Mimbulus mimbletonia would have launched the stuff everywhere, making it to the far reaches of the greenhouse, this one had only just gotten Neville where he stood. With her proximity, Sprout was covered, but that was the smallest of victories.

"Interesting," Professor Sprout said, regarding Neville.

He brought out his wand to clean up the mess, silently casting _Scourgify_. It was unclear if Sprout was referring to the cactus's behavior or Neville's.

Looking back at the plant before her, Professor Sprout spoke again. "You mentioned in your letter that you've been using this plant for breeding?"

Neville nodded. "Yes, for the past few years."

"How many cycles have you put it through?"

"Um, six I think? Some of my first tries weren't successful." He saw the professor frown down at the cactus and his heart started to pound. "But I've gotten better at it! I've been able to propagate four new offspring now. The other mature Mimbulus mimbletonia that I have flowers every six months, so—"

"What have your studies said about how often these plants reproduce?" Professor Sprout asked, her attention still trained on Neville.

"Well, not a lot," Neville said. His face felt even hotter than it had before. "That's part of why I wanted to breed these, because there's such a lack of published work that I could find about them. Everything I've read just said that they reproduce during the flowering period, as we'd expect from most flowering plants in general."

Professor Sprout turned back to the cactus before her, stroking it gently as it let out a low whine. "And what spurs Mimbulus mimbletonia to flower?"

All of this suddenly felt like a horrible flashback to his early days at Hogwarts, to quizzes that he didn't know the answers to, no matter how hard he'd studied, how hard he'd tried to get things right. But he couldn't just say nothing. He'd done so much reading about these things, so much research into what he was doing wrong before he resorted to this meeting. "My research never identified an exact cause," he said. "But it did suggest that they primarily bloom during the rainy season in their natural habitat."

"And how often does that occur in the deserts where these live?" A smile seemed to play about the edges of Sprout's mouth.

"Once a year," Neville said. It was obvious that he was missing something, but he couldn't think of what for the life of him.

Sprout looked straight at Neville, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it's much wetter here than it is in the Assyrian deserts."

"Oh," he said. "Moisture makes it bloom?"

"Not exactly," Professor Sprout said, putting on a familiar air that Neville recognized from all of those years as her student, "but a Mimbulus mimbletonia does need to absorb a certain amount of moisture before it can bloom, and it can do so much quicker here than it can in its original habitat. So let's remember, just because the other one was blooming, doesn't mean this one was ready to go through another pollination cycle yet."

The tension in Neville's shoulders dissipated with the revelation that his beloved plant was not dying of some unidentifiable disease. His chest still felt tight, knowing that this was mostly his fault, but at least this was something curable. "What do I do now? To fix it?"

"First of all, don't beat yourself up about it," Sprout said with a smile. "Incidents like this happen to all Herbologists at one point or another, Longbottom. Be glad it didn't get any worse."

Neville nodded. His heart pounded again, but for the first time that day it was from something positive. Professor Sprout calling him a Herbologist made pride thrum through his whole body. If nearly killing his cactus had one positive, he'd just found it.

"Next, keep doing what you described in your letter. It needs to rest and if you hadn't already exhausted it with breeding you certainly would have by trying so many methods of recuperation on it. These plants are from the desert, they need stability!" Sprout began to walk towards the other end of the greenhouse, where a large wooden supply hutch stood. "A stable environment would be nice, a greenhouse with a charm on it to recreate the weather conditions in the desert would be ideal but obviously a bit much for only six plants. Keep them as warm as possible for now."

"Alright," Neville said, though he wasn't sure how his grandmother would react to all of his Mimbulus mimbletonia moving into the sunroom.

Professor Sprout, meanwhile, had reached the hutch and opened its doors to dig inside while having to occasionally dodge the grasping vines of a nearby bush. "Have you ever given thought to pursuing Herbology professionally?" she asked.

"A little bit," Neville said, feeling his eyebrows draw together. "A lot more lately, though."

A large bottle full of brown liquid now in her hand, Sprout closed up the hutch and started her way back towards Neville. "It's obvious that you've done quite a bit of good research for your own interests, how would you feel about doing it for someone else's projects?"

"Yours?" Neville asked. Hope fluttered in his chest. Maybe this was exactly the opportunity he needed. The time spent in the Hogwarts greenhouses had been some of the best he'd ever had, the happiest and calmest. To be able to do that again, to be under Professor Sprout's tutelage again, all of it would be a dream.

Unfortunately, that dream died almost as soon as it had arisen. "No, no, I'm afraid teaching doesn't allow for all that much experimentation on my part," Sprout said, though she was still smiling at him. She resumed her spot at the head of the table and set the bottle down next to the Mimbulus mimbletonia. "Have you heard of Selina Sapworthy?"

"The author of _Winogrand's Wonderous Water Plants_ ," Neville said. He'd always found that book, a chronicle of plants found in African lakes, completely fascinating, and had even kept a copy with him throughout school. When he had looked into the author, it'd been a let down to discover that that was her only book, though he'd heard her on Tilden Toots's gardening show on the wireless a few times.

"That's the one," Sprout said. "She's finally getting around to writing a new book, but apparently has lost her taste for travel and needs a researcher to do all of that work for her. Knowing her, the pay won't be marvelous, but she's been asking around for any recommendations of potential candidates who could be up to the task." She considered Neville with her eyebrows raised.

"It sounds like an amazing job," Neville said, not even allowing himself to imagine that Sprout was actually getting at what he hoped she was getting at.

"You haven't met the woman," Professor Sprout said with a chuckle. She uncorked the bottle and was about to pour it onto the dirt surrounding Neville's Mimbulus mimbletonia when she regarded him again. "It's just a fertilizing potion for general wellness, something to pepper it up a bit. Any problem with using it?"

Neville shook his head. "No, not at all. Although, I did buy some of that before and it had no effect."

Sprout scoffed as she poured a generous amount around the cactus. "The stuff in stores is all rubbish, home-brewed is the only way to go for these kinds of potions. I remember and understand why you were never drawn to potion-making in your time here at school, of course, but you ought to give it another go now. If you want a future in this field there are a few essential drafts that you'll need to get down; this is one of them."

"Okay," Neville said.

"So should I send your name in?" Sprout asked, smirking at him.

"If you wouldn't mind," Neville said, his stomach in knots. "Thank you so much."

Sprout smiled warmly at him. "Come along," she said, handing the Mimbulus mimbletonia back to him and turning towards the door. "I've got a book on Herbology related potions that I want to give you before you leave."

It was early the next morning when Neville arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Not that he'd memorized her schedule, but since he'd begun talking to Hannah more he'd been able to surmise a pattern in her schedule there, and that involved working the apparently tediously slow breakfast shift on Tuesdays. And besides, he'd already been awake for some time before deciding to come. Sleep had been hard to come by for the whole night. Neville's brain just couldn't seem to switch off, instead going in circles over everything that Sprout had told him and, especially, about the prospect of getting a job he would actually enjoy. Even when he finally had fallen asleep, Neville woke up a few short hours later, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep at all. Eventually, having had enough of trying to rest, he got up and dug out his copy of Sapworthy's book, reading over some of his favorite entries until he'd deemed it late enough to head out.

As he ducked inside of the pub, he was glad to escape the cold drizzle of rain that was falling, even if he'd only been in it momentarily. He ran a hand through his now damp hair as he walked through the near-empty dining area. It was honestly a bit eerie, seeing a spot that he knew as a loud, vivacious, gathering place so empty and quiet. He could hear the crackle of the fire and the low hum of a wireless somewhere behind the bar. He even heard the creek of the door to the kitchen as it swung open revealing Hannah.

"Hello there!" she said. It might have been wishful, but Neville couldn't help but think that she'd sort of lit up when she saw him.

"Hi," Neville said, standing opposite her.

"Well sit down," she said, gesturing to the stool before him. "Coffee or tea?"

"Tea please."

Hannah started to dart around behind the bar, gathering a teacup and the kettle, along with the cream and sugar. "Tell me how it went with Professor Sprout! What did she say? I was so anxious to know last night I nearly sent you an owl."

She laughed and Neville smiled at her, taking in her appearance that morning. He felt happy to see how relaxed she looked. Her hair had been twisted into a simple knot at the back of her head, although many pieces had escaped near her face, and she looked well rested, her eyes bright and clear. Her movements seemed easier than he'd grown accustomed to seeing, too, with less thought put into them. And perhaps best of all, she kept looking at him in such an open, unguarded, natural sort of way. Neville's heart raced with the knowledge that he'd do just about anything to keep her looking at him like that.

"Neville?" she prompted, a bemused smile on her face.

"Right," he said, trying not to look too obviously embarrassed. He recounted everything that Sprout had said about the Mimbulus mimbletonia and Hannah listened, smiling at him throughout.

"Well that's wonderful news," she said when he finished. "I'm so glad it'll be alright."

Neville felt the relief wash over him again as he admitted, "Me too." He sipped his tea, before adding, "Thank you for suggesting that I go to Sprout."

Hannah waved off his thanks. "Wait here a minute? I want you to try something," she said, turning to go into the kitchen.

Neville nodded. "Alright."

He continued to drink his tea while she was gone, mulling over what else to tell her. Half of him wanted to tell her about the potential job offer, to thank her because who knows if Professor Sprout would've considered him for it without that meeting. He wanted to tell her how excited he was that this was even a possibility. But still, he couldn't help but hold back on that. It was just an offer, not even one made directly to him. So what if Sprout suggested him to Sapworthy? That didn't guarantee anything. And what if he told her about it now but didn't actually get the job? His stomach churned at the thought. The last thing he wanted was for her to know that he'd failed in yet another way.

It was for the best not to tell her, he decided, as he was nervous enough already. After all, it wasn't as though he hadn't looked for another job at all, he had, he'd spent plenty of time doing so. But that pursuit was always so disheartening. There was never anything he could find that sounded the least bit appealing. Everything either seemed unattainable or else totally unfulfilling, and it always made him so disgusted with the situation and himself that he put off the whole matter altogether for another few weeks before the cycle would repeat itself. He recognized that he was in a privileged position that he could even go through this cycle and still get by, but that too made him disgusted by himself. Now that this potential job had appeared, seemingly an answer to all of his wishes, an escape route from his current situation, he couldn't bear the thought of it slipping by. And on top of that, he couldn't stand to think of telling Hannah or anyone else that it had.

Hannah reappeared out of the kitchen, a platter of muffins and two plates in her hands. She placed a muffin on a plate and gave it to him. "Try it," she said before coming around to sit on the stool next to his with a muffin of her own.

Neville did, and he was surprised to find a few different kinds of dried berries as well as chocolate inside. "This is really good," he told her. He took another bite. "Did you make these?"

"Yeah," Hannah said. She let out a relieved sort of laugh and bounced her legs up and down a few times, the balls of her feet pressed against a crossbar low on the stool's legs.

Neville's heart surged.

"I took a couple of my grandma's recipes and tried to combine them a few different ways, and this is my favorite by far so I am so glad that you like it too," she said.

"How did it go with them on Sunday?" he asked. He knew that she'd had to go to another dinner with her family only two days before.

Hannah shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Better than the last time, that's for sure." She gave a small smile and gestured at her face. "Although I guess that's obvious given how I'm not, I don't know, having another breakdown?"

Neville smiled back at her.

Her eyes no longer met his when she said, "It's still just so weird, and at this point I don't know how we'll ever be normal again. Or if that's even possible, I suppose."

It took every ounce of self-control to stop Neville from reaching for Hannah's hand. Still, he had to do something to keep her from feeling so alone. "Before I went to the castle yesterday," he told her, "I stopped by the Hog's Head. I don't even know why I did it, really. But it was weird too. I couldn't stop thinking about back then."

"Oh, Neville," Hannah said, her eyes big and staring straight into his.

For a moment, he was taken back to a night in the Room of Requirement, when he and Hannah, Seamus, the Patil twins, Terry Boot, and several others had all taken refuge there, bruised and bloodied and running out of hope. Even understanding the room as well as he did, Neville had longed for an escape, for some sunlight. His trips to the Hog's Head had been his only relief, and he'd wager that everyone there had known it.

Hannah reached out for Neville's hand.

The feel of her slim fingers weaving with his own nearly broke him. "We're never going to escape it, are we?" he asked.

A sad smile appeared on Hannah's face, making it clear that she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Maybe one day," she said, "But probably not anytime soon."

Neville nodded, swallowing thickly.

"But we're both here now," she said. "And that's good—so much good has happened. It's just hard to see sometimes."

He didn't say that a lot of bad had happened too, that a lot of bad things were still happening. He didn't need to. Hannah already knew that, and Neville knew that she did.

As they sat there, hands still intertwined, Neville tried so hard to focus on the present, on the reality of her skin on his, of the pulse he could faintly feel as it jumped in her palm, of the sound of the rain picking up outside. This was something good, of that he was sure. And no matter how impossible it seemed, he just needed to focus on that and try to let it drown out the fears from the past and the worries of the future.

* * *

Author's Note: I really never thought I'd write so much about a fictional cactus, but here we are. Although there's no avoiding it when writing about Neville, of course.

Thank you all so much for reading this story and for sticking with me through my various blocks. At this point I think it's best that I don't make any promises about updating this fic—except to say that eventually it will happen—but, if it's any consolation, I've already started the next chapter. It feels so good to write again.


	12. Late September

Author's note: I have no excuse, all I can say is thank you for sticking with this after such a long hiatus and thank you, especially, to those of you who found this fic while I wasn't writing and still left such nice comments. Your support is more than I deserve. Hopefully you'll all be pleased to have the longest chapter yet? I know it doesn't make up for the wait, but I had to get a lot done here in Hannah's perspective before I can move on. Thank you, as ever, for taking the time to read my writing. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The rain was a welcome companion. Sure, Hannah couldn't see it—it was the middle of the night and she lay in bed with the curtains drawn—but that didn't matter. After weeks of drizzling on and off, the sky had finally opened up, a sort of relief that she could only long for. Its patter against the window served as a nice reminder that, even as Hannah lay cocooned in half a dozen blankets, paralyzed by more feelings than her body seemed capable of processing, the world outside still turned. For that she felt grateful.

And maybe she could have focused in on that gratitude, if only her head would stop pounding. She'd already taken pain relief potion, it was the first thing that she'd done after finishing up her closing shift, but it hadn't eased the sharp ache. Rather, the potion had merely caused everything to go blurry. Thoughts kept flickering in Hannah's mind, each one too foggy to grasp onto. Her mouth felt fuzzy and her stomach churned, never mind that she'd made sure to grab a snack from the kitchen as they cleaned up for the night. Add in the fact that she'd been unsuccessful in her attempt to fall asleep for nearly two hours already and Hannah knew that her rough night was far from over.

She rolled onto her back with a sigh, tugging her yellow blanket up to her face. Even if she couldn't keep any single thought within focus, a very clear subject took up every corner of her brain. And, of course, it had to be the only thing she truly didn't want to think about. Not then, not ever. She sunk her fingers into the knitted texture, burying her nose in it too.

It didn't matter how much easier her day to day grief had become, late September always buried her under a mountain of despair that, try as she might, she couldn't escape. For the weeks leading up to September 29th all Hannah could do was try her best to keep it together, to do her work and keep herself bathed and fed and as well rested as possible. And as simple as that sounded, it still managed to prove almost too challenging each year. Hannah found that just getting up in the morning could be nearly impossible when thoughts of her mother haunted her for every second of the day. Maybe this was why her father had upturned that picture. If that act had given him any respite from feeling like this, could Hannah really blame him?

Every year it was agony, yet somehow this year felt worse. Probably because of the significance, five years since her mother's murder, five years since her entire world had been upturned. Why did that solid five seem so momentous? Logically, Hannah knew that her world would have changed entirely no matter what happened to her mother. The war would've shifted enough within her that she probably would've ended up in the same place, with the same doubts and fears. But the suspicion that gnawed at the edges of her mind said otherwise. Sure, things would have changed, but maybe the effects wouldn't have lasted so long if her mother were there to ebb the flow, to protect or at the very least comfort Hannah as she processed all that she had seen. Maybe if the foundation of her life hadn't been blasted apart those worries and fears never could have turned into the neurosis that tore through her now.

Hannah sat up, pushing the blankets away from her body. They felt smothering, suddenly, like a trap, crushing her chest and necessitating escape. She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, feet ghosting over the floor, and ran her hands over her face. Her skin felt clammy despite the cool air. Maybe sleep just wasn't an option tonight. She pressed her palms against her eyes and tried desperately to form a clear thought. _Light_ , the far reaches of her brain shouted through the fog, _light might help_ _._ So Hannah stood up and crossed to the window, drawing back the curtains to reveal the deserted length of Diagon Alley below, where the soft glow of the street lamps flickered up to her through the rain.

Leaning against her desk, Hannah took in the sight. She could still remember the first time she'd seen this, on one of her first nights in this room, when it had caught her so off guard that she'd immediately shut it out with the curtains. Diagon Alley, in her mind at the time, wasn't meant to be seen so empty. It had always been such a lively, convivial space. In fact, the only time that Hannah could remember seeing the lane looking so desolate was when she needed to buy books before returning to Hogwarts for that mandatory seventh year, when her world had been drained of nearly all hope. In those early days working at the Leaky Cauldron the last thing Hannah needed was to confront the memories of that year. It was hard enough already, returning to the Wizarding world after spending a year in Belfast with her Nana, convincing her father and his parents that she'd be all right in London, not to mention actually having to adjust to living alone. There had been no space in her mind at the time to push past those brutal memories. But in the year since she'd tried so hard to work through those things, and it was a sort of victory now to look down on the empty street, to see it only for what it truly was—a charming, magical place at rest for the night.

She felt foolish at the memories. How could she ever have found such a calm sight so frightening? And with that, her mind edged toward an avalanche of shame. Her cheeks burned as she thought about all of the ways she'd failed, both as a daughter and a witch. From fleeing her real life almost as soon as school had ended to what her life had become now, there were so many wrong decisions and bad choices. Silly things from her school days, worse things from the last two years, and the most abhorrent bad decisions from wartime—staying hidden when she should have fought, staying silent when she could have spoken out against all of the wrongdoing at the school.

Hannah clutched the edge of the desk to ground herself. Her thoughts became a labyrinth far too easily on nights like this. She took a shuddering breath. The dark room spread out before her, as messy and harmless as ever, but looking at it suddenly felt oppressive. This room was so entirely _her_. She needed out.

As she padded across the dining space downstairs in her socked feet she was glad to be alone. Or at least, if Tom actually was lurking around as he so often did, he chose not to acknowledge her. It was for the best. She didn't want to be seen by anyone, let alone her boss, in a ratty t-shirt and too big sweatpants, with her braid having surely become a disheveled mess of hair from her tossing and turning. Hannah ducked into the kitchen, feeling relieved even through the fogginess of her mind.

At times like these it was a gift to be unseen. It brought some measure of peace, anyway, and the kitchen at the Leaky Cauldron served as a wonderful hiding place, even from one's own thoughts. During the day activity and noise abounded while Hephesta worked. It provided the sort of white noise that somehow counteracted whatever was happening in Hannah's brain lately. That made it the perfect place to get away to, and as an excuse to be there Hannah had taken up baking. At first it just felt like the next in her long line of blundered creative endeavors, another craft that she would soon abandon and forget in the frustration of having failed at it one too many times. But it proved to be different enough that she stuck with it. Baking, after all, had rules. It had instructions and ways to reason out of problems. And it also had sugar and butter and chocolate, which Hannah had already found were much more forgiving than paint or thread.

Sure, Hannah felt a bit pathetic admitting even just to herself that she still found it calming to follow instructions, that she took more pleasure in executing something that way than struggling through it independently. That was how a child operated, she thought, not a twenty-one year old woman. But if acting like a child was what it took to get some respite from her thoughts, Hannah would just have to swallow her pride and do it. And it wasn't as if no work went into her baking. She still got to puzzle out why her grandmother's recipes that she pulled from called for certain things and told her to use certain techniques. She still got to use her hands. Best of all, though, she got to focus on something outside of herself. And this something could even bring some joy for the people around her.

The Leaky Cauldron's pantry was always well stocked, and it had charms in place to know who took out what, so thus far Tom had been willing to just deduct the cost of her ingredients from her wages. That certainly simplified things for Hannah, and it gave her the freedom to basically make whatever she liked on a whim. Taking a look around the packed room by wand-light, the first thing that jumped out at her was a basket of raspberries, ripe and vibrantly red and probably some of the last they'd get that season. She gathered them along with the rest of her supplies, piling them in her arms. With her head feeling so cloudy she didn't trust herself to do two spells at once and the last thing she wanted was to waste what she took.

As she worked, the rain continued to fall. It slowed a few times, but only to return tenfold with riotous noise against the large, grimy panes of the windows that sat high on the exterior wall. The whole process took longer than it should have. Her limbs moved sluggishly, things that had previously felt natural now took a concerted effort. It probably didn't help that she worked in the low-light of one nearby lamp, but her head still ached and she feared that turning on the overhead lights would only make it worse.

The recipe that she was working off of came from her Nana, and so of course the techniques involved were done by hand, not magic. Hannah mostly kept to that, only pulling out her wand when some electronic appliance or other was called for. And eventually, she put two baking sheets of raspberry-filled hand-pies into the ancient oven.

As she moved the dirty dishes to the sink for washing, quiet footsteps approached.

"You know," Tom said, "It'd be more useful for you to learn how to make bread."

Hannah muttered a charm to get the dishes going and turned to her boss. "I could definitely try."

Tom nodded, a kind, toothless smile on his wizened face. "We go through a lot more of that than we do desserts."

"Alright," Hannah said, almost on instinct. In the back of her mind she was already kicking herself. What a stupid promise to make and what poor path to set herself upon. The thought of tackling such a different, and seemingly much more intricate form of baking made her stomach drop. She hardly had a handle on simple desserts and now she'd set herself up for failure yet again. But she'd made the promise, so now she had to attempt it, at the very least. Behind her back she began to wring her hands.

"Well," Tom said, "I suppose I'll leave you to it." He turned to leave, but stopped suddenly. "By the way, have you found someone to cover your shift on Saturday yet?"

"Sam can do it," Hannah said. In the haze of her distress that night she'd almost forgotten what loomed before her. Ginny had sent out another invitation to the whole DA, this time to attend a Quidditch match together. Hannah would have gladly passed it up, she knew the chances of enjoying herself were slim, but Susan had gotten to her before she'd had time to formulate an excuse. And in the face of her best friend's excitement, Hannah hadn't been able to find it in herself to let Susan down.

Tom clicked his tongue. "Sam, huh?" He stroked his jaw in thought for a moment before speaking again. "A poor replacement on a busy night," he said, "but I suppose he'll do just fine."

Hannah's stomach clenched. "I'm sorry, he was the only person available and it was short notice but—" Understanding broke through the fog in her mind and she fell silent. It wasn't an admonishment, as she'd assumed and feared, but rather a compliment paid to her job performance. "Thank you," she said then. Her voice sounded meek, she wondered if he'd even heard her over the water running in the sink behind her.

The gentle smile that spread on Tom's face suggested that he had indeed, somehow. He raised a gnarled hand in a silent wave before turning to disappear into the empty pub.

Alone again, Hannah's mind restarted its unfocused wandering. It edged dangerously close to everything she was avoiding, so she busied herself washing all of the counters. It wasn't strictly necessary, they did it after the kitchen closed each night, really she only needed to clean where she'd worked, but at least it gave her something else to do while the dishes washed and the pies baked.

Somewhere in the fogginess there was the acknowledgement that she couldn't run from all of this forever, that she should think about her mother and give her the sort remembrance she deserved. But she couldn't do it, not yet. Maybe the next week, on the actual anniversary, then she might open up those wounds and let them bleed freely. Certainly not before Saturday. If she was going to make it through another day of mandated merriment and seeing her old friends she'd need to keep it together.

For a moment she considered bailing on everyone for a few days. She could leave London, she thought fleetingly, she could head to the coast by herself, to sit by the sea and feel calm for once. That wasn't what would happen, though. She knew that much. No, if she disappeared it would only be to lock herself in her room, to trap herself and her thoughts in a space where maybe they might not feel so big and frightening, where at the very least they could only affect her. She'd let herself feel it all, she thought, she'd feel it and then maybe her mind would stop swirling and storming so often. It wasn't realistic though. Tom would find her easily enough, and would rightfully be angry with her for skiving off her shifts. And if she didn't show up on Saturday, Susan would just come to retrieve her, probably dragging her out her self-imposed confinement anyway. Hannah wasn't sure if she was grateful or resentful of that, or perhaps a bit of both.

She shut off the sink. The dishes lay in a drying rack, the charm having done its trick and made them spotless. In the renewed quiet of the space the dance of raindrops on the windows and the street outside once again overwhelmed Hannah's ears. She closed her eyes and listened to it, trying to let the uneven pattern of the sound drive back her swirling thoughts.

Hannah wouldn't run away again, she couldn't. But for the time being she'd resign herself to the lesser escape of hiding out in the kitchen, accompanied only by the darkness, the patter of the rain, and the smell of sugar-sweetened raspberries.

* * *

"Who knew that all it took to expand your social activities was Ginny Weasley's involvement?"

"Oh hush," Hannah said.

"Sorry," Susan told her. "But you've got to admit that ever since these little DA get-togethers have started you've been getting out more and more."

"I guess." Hannah would've mulled that over but her mind already felt too preoccupied with the masses of people that surrounded them. She hadn't been in a place with so many people at once in probably three years, not since all of those events in the wake of Voldemort's defeat. And she'd never been to a professional Quidditch match at all.

Susan pressed. "It's a good thing, you know. At least I think it is. It's just nice to see you more, regardless of whether or not other people are around, obviously. I just find the timing kind of funny."

The crowd moved around them in waves. Some going to the myriad food stalls, some getting merchandise from tents for their respective teams, but most walking in a current towards the stadium where it sat nestled at the center of the valley in which they stood, far from the eyes of any wayward Muggles.

"We should head in," Hannah said, tightening her grip on the bag she carried. It was loaded with take-away boxes full of all the treats she'd made in the past few days, the only kind of repayment she could think of for Ginny's generosity inviting them all there.

Susan's eyes narrowed, "You're sure you don't want to look around some more? You only get one first game!"

Unlike Hannah's family, which couldn't have cared less about sports, the Bones family had long consisted of diehard Quidditch fans. And under the guidance of her mother and aunt, Susan had been wrapped up in a love of the Holyhead Harpies for most of her life, making it only slightly surreal that she now knew the team's star player. Most of Hannah's knowledge of the sport came as a result of their friendship. It had formed in bits and pieces that she picked up from listening to Susan talk about Quidditch all throughout their time at Hogwarts, hearing her rant about rankings and rivalries as she read about them in the Daily Prophet and Seeker Weekly, even listening to some matches on the wireless in their common room. That being said, she was more than a bit out of the loop nowadays, and felt a bit like a fake fan wearing her borrowed Harpies shirt. Susan, meanwhile, looked completely at ease, if not ecstatic, in her head-to-toe green and gold ensemble, right down to the logo she'd painted onto her cheek. She'd even charmed it so the golden talon at its center would flex every so often.

Hannah nodded, "If it's alright with you, let's go see who else is here already."

"Okay!" Susan said. She smiled brightly as they joined the steady stream of people marching towards the stadium, allowing the crowd to swallow them, and Hannah promised herself that she wouldn't do anything to dampen Susan's excitement for the day.

According to Ginny's invitation there would be passes waiting for them at the gate, all they had to do was give their names. Hannah's throat felt tight when the man who they'd spoken to walked away looking confused. She wasn't sure that she could stand the embarrassment of being turned away now, or the disappointment on Susan's part. It was for nothing, though, because he returned with an older-looking witch wearing business robes that were adorned with a large Harpies broach.

"Right this way, ladies," she told them with a smile, and soon she was guiding them through the stadium at a quick clip.

She introduced herself as they continued through the less-intense but still sizable crowd, but Hannah didn't catch her name, instead only hearing that she worked in some sort of media position for the team. Through breaks in the stands they could catch glimpses of the bright green grass at the bottom of the pitch, and the glint of the sun on the goals at either end. It wasn't until they started up a guarded flight of stairs that Hannah caught the woman's words again.

"Of course we're glad to accommodate anything Ginny asks, she's been such a boost for the team's performance it's well worth a luxury box here or there. And the press coverage! What a windfall that's been."

"Luxury box?" Susan asked. She glanced back at Hannah and waggled her eyebrows.

That caught Hannah's ear as well. Ginny's invitation had simply been to watch the game, which they had figured meant normal seats in the stands for their group, maybe having a row all to themselves but nothing more. This sounded like a lot more.

Even with that tease, Hannah wasn't ready for what they walked into. When the woman opened the door for them they found that "luxury box" mean a large suite, bigger than Hannah's room at the inn, maybe even triple that size. There were stadium-style seats at the open front, sloping down to allow everyone a nice view of the pitch, but there was also a lounge area in the center of the room with couches and armchairs, not to mention the buffet tables which were loaded with rich-looking food that made Hannah want to leave her little bag of treats out in the hall.

" _Merlin_ ," Hannah breathed out. She turned to Susan, whose eyes were so wide Hannah thought it must hurt.

"Wow," Susan said.

The woman made a pleased noise, a cross between a laugh and a chirp. "Yes," she said, "it's quite impressive, isn't it? The wonders bought by having a media darling on the team."

Susan's sour expression helped to validate Hannah's own discomfort with that statement. _Media darling,_ she thought, _what a way to say war hero._

Before the awkwardness of the moment could hang for too long, though, Neville and Hermione approached them, both decked out in bright green Harpies gear as well.

"Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Shellhaven," Neville said, a smile plastered on his face that, as far as Hannah could tell, didn't reach his eyes.

The woman, Mrs. Shellhaven apparently, drew herself up to full height and opened her mouth to say something when Hermione cut in.

"And thank you for bringing everyone up personally. Please, though, feel free to put someone else on the job, we'd hate to keep you from your work any longer."

Mrs. Shellhaven gave a tight-lipped smile. "How considerate, but I've cleared my schedule to see to you all today, and it's my pleasure, of course." Her smile widened, bearing her teeth. "Anything for Ginny." She turned back to the stairs, throwing a quick, "Enjoy the match," over her shoulder before disappearing down into the spiraling steps.

They stood in silence as the sound of her footsteps faded. Once they'd gone Hermione muttered, "What a vile woman."

"Do you two count as media darlings too?" Susan said, her voice light and joking but her eyes still wide, now in a darker shade of disbelief.

Neville and Hermione laughed and Harry approached from behind them. "Even if they don't I apparently do. Sorry I didn't come over before but that woman's always trying to get me to do promotions for the team, as if I played for them."

"You'd think she played for them," Hermione said. "The name suits her well enough."

"That's what Ginny says too," Harry laughed.

They exchanged all of their pleasantries then, and others from the group came over to say hello as well, and Hannah tried not to put too much stock in the fact that Neville wasn't meeting her eyes.

Her head swam a bit, overcome by the greetings and chatting and press of enthusiasm amongst all of these people she used to know so well—who, she reminded herself, she could still know so well, if only she put in the work. _I made it through the birthday party, I can make it through this_ , she thought, grasping for any sort of strength or calm she could muster. But this was different. At the party there had been so many more people, spread out in so many rooms, with so much to occupy them. Here, all together in this enclosed space awaiting the start of the match, they only had each other to focus on. And while it was in no way a small group, it was smaller than it had been at the party, boiled down mostly to those who had made up the DA's original iteration.

It wasn't until right before the match started that Hannah found a moment to separate herself from the group and its multiple, concurrent conversations. A diversion appeared with the arrival of the Patil twins and Lavender Brown and as everyone else gathered to greet them Hannah made her escape to the buffet table. She was still clutching that bag of treats in her hand and wanted more than anything to ditch her small offerings while everyone else was distracted.

She'd just set down the second box when she noticed someone approaching.

"What'd you make?" Neville asked. He was smiling, a soft lilt to his lips that Hannah's eyes caught on for just a moment too long.

"Uh, pies," she said. She looked back at the table and opened one of the boxes. "Small ones, 'hand-pies' my Nana calls them. Half are raspberry and half apple."

He didn't say anything else so Hannah forced herself to look at him again. That smile still hung around his mouth, but his eyebrows had drawn together. It looked like he might say something when a round of laughter erupted in the group behind him and he turned to look at it. Luna had arrived and the focus had shifted onto her. Hannah could see why. Luna's long, pale hair had been piled atop her head in a messy twist, revealing two giant, sculptural earrings that were made to look like the Harpies' logo, right down to the long talons. As Hannah watched one of them even flexed, the gold coating glinting in the sun that streamed into the suite from its huge opening.

Neville cleared his throat. Hannah turned to him and found his eyes already back on her.

"How have you been?"

"Fine," she said. She wanted to kick herself for saying it. Lying to Neville felt extra wrong, and kind of pointless after all of the time they'd spent together in the last couple of months. But, then again, through all of that time interacting with him had rarely felt so stilted. She didn't know what was going wrong now. It'd been a couple of weeks since the last time that he visited the Leaky Cauldron, or her, but she hadn't thought much of it. Not until now.

Neville frowned. Hannah didn't know if it was at her brusque tone or her clipped response, or maybe if it was because he could see through it all, could tell that whatever compelled her to answer like that meant it wasn't true. She couldn't decide which reason she hoped was the real one.

He reached back to scratch at the nape of his neck. "Sorry I haven't come round lately," he said.

"Don't be, it's fine."

"That word again?"

Hannah sighed. She'd actually meant what she said that time, for whatever it was worth. Her skin crawled at the unfamiliar tension. Walls that hadn't existed before now lay between them and Hannah couldn't tell if she was more annoyed at their presence or at her inability to understand what had caused them to appear. Her gaze drifted past Neville again, to the group that was now settling into the seats. Out on the pitch the teams had appeared, flying laps around each other to the delight of the crowd. She considered that, for as close as it felt like they'd grown, most of the time that she spent with Neville had been away from other people and entirely separate from their friends.

"I'm sorry," Neville said, bringing back Hannah's attention. His frown had deepened.

Hannah shook her head. "The match is starting, we should go sit."

She walked past him before he could say anything else.

Susan had kept the seat next to her open and Hannah's body rushed with gratitude towards her for it. She sat down heavily, trying to ignore the glances of other people she'd passed. For Susan she would keep it together, but managing to keep it together didn't guarantee that she could put forward the best version of herself. She wished she could be her old self, the one who'd been so light and happy with those around her, who'd handed out kindness like it didn't cost her anything. It'd been years since she'd felt like that, though, and it felt like a foolish daydream to think of ever finding that person again now.

"Are you alright?" Susan's voice was quiet.

Hannah almost couldn't hear her over the group as it cheered for Ginny, who'd just shot past the suite in a flash of verdant robes and flaming hair. She nodded at Susan, plastering a smile on her face that she could only hope would be believable enough. Ruining this day was not an option.

Before Susan could say anything else the game got under way. Hannah appreciated the distraction. For a while she forgot everything else going on inside her mind and just cheered with her friends when the Harpies scored several early goals. Ginny herself scored three times in a row, prompting shouts from everyone in the suite, even Alicia Spinnet and Anthony Goldstein who wore shirts in support of the opposing Montrose Magpies. As good as many of the games at Hogwarts had been, Hannah had to admit that professional Quidditch was something else. She hadn't expected the game to be so much more exciting, the players all so skillful. They made the most difficult of plays look fluid and natural, as if this were some choreographed dance in the sky instead of the clash of two opposing forces.

The Harpies amassed an impressive lead and were maintaining it so steadily that the game almost got boring. Both seekers got close to the Snitch a few times, prompting shouts from everyone, but it always escaped their grasps. Ginny made an impressive play after one of the opposing beaters sent a Bludger directly at her. She managed to avoid it with a sloth-grip roll and the ball smacked one of the Magpies' chasers instead, dislodging the Quaffle from his grip. Still upside down, Ginny swept forward to catch the Quaffle before righting herself and making a quick dash across the pitch to score another goal. Their whole suite celebrated, even those who had moved over to the seating area and weren't dedicated to watching the match.

Hannah high-fived Susan and then turned to do the same with Justin. While she was looking that way Neville caught her eye from several rows down towards the front. He was celebrating with those around him too, wearing a grin that she felt reflected on her own face. She could've sworn it widened when their eyes locked. His look turned questioning and he inclined his head towards the back of the suite. Without thinking, Hannah felt herself nod.

She turned to Susan. "I'm going to get something to eat, do you want anything?"

"I'm alright," Susan said, her eyes never leaving the pitch.

Neville was already waiting for her by the snack table.

"I'm sorry about before," Neville said, "I just, I need to tell you something and it's making me a nervous git."

"Well that bodes well," Hannah said, her smile vanishing.

Neville laughed, although it didn't sound like it had much humor in it. "It's good news, I think."

For a second Hannah's mind went back to how Neville had stopped himself from speaking earlier when Luna showed up. Was that his news? Were they back together? It was a silly thought, Neville had made it clear to her before that nothing romantic remained between them, and they'd hardly even interacted that afternoon as far as Hannah had seen. She pushed those thoughts away, admonishing herself for even caring about whether or not they were together.

She pushed a smile onto her face. "Alright, what is it then?"

"I've only told a few people, because I'm not sure how permanent this is going to be, and I have you to thank really because without you I wouldn't have gone to see Professor Sprout and without her this wouldn't have happened, at all, and it's nothing to get too excited about because like I said it might only be for a bit and—"

"Neville," Hannah said, cutting through his rambling, "what are you trying to say?"

He stared at her, his eyebrows drawn together again. His cheeks had gone a shade darker, making him look as flustered as he sounded. Hannah had to resist the urge to reach out to him.

"You know Selina Sapworthy, the Herbologist? She wrote _Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants_? I might be her new researcher."

"Really?" Hannah smiled despite the confusion she still felt. Was that really what this had all been about?

Neville nodded. "She's writing a new book and wanted someone to do field research for her. I'm leaving on a trip for her in a couple of days. Sprout suggested me after I saw her about my cactus, after you told me to go see her." He inclined his head towards her, looking up at her through his surprisingly full eyelashes.

Hannah's breath caught in her throat. "That's wonderful, it's perfect for you, congratulations."

"I have you to thank for this," he said, still looking at her like that.

It felt too intimate, that look. Almost loving. He couldn't have meant it that way, she was sure, he just wanted her to know how sincere his gratitude was. "Well I suppose it was my pleasure to tell you what to do," she joked.

He smiled at that, but the intensity of his gaze remained. "Hannah," he said, his voice low.

She hugged him before she could do anything more embarrassing, her jaw pressing into his shoulder as his arms encircled her too.

And then the suite descended into madness.

Out of the corner of her eye Hannah saw a blinding flash. Her mind hurtled back to battle at Hogwarts, to the flashes of spells flying all around her, the chaos of clashing magic and broken bodies in ruined parts of the castle, the smell of smoke. Her throat felt tight. The yelling that ensued didn't help, either. She tried to tell herself it had to be about the game, but the voices, so familiar from her school days, were angry and rough. She broke away from Neville, pulling her wand from her pocket as he did the same. Then she saw the rush of bodies. Ron and Dean had darted away from the group and towards the door, Harry and Seamus on their heels.

"Revelio!" Ron and Harry shouted in unison, their wands raised and aimed towards the door.

Two figures began to appear, their Disillusionment charms wearing off. There was a posh man, whose robes looked more appropriate for a business meeting than a Quidditch match, and a younger woman who held a large camera in her hands. It only took Hannah a second to realize that that must have been the source of the flash.

Neville flicked his wand, muttering under his breath as a Body-Bind curse hit both of the strangers. They hit the ground before their lower legs were even visible.

"Bloody reporters," Ron said to the room at large, a deep-set scowl on his face.

Hermione had appeared at the scene, she bent over to look at the pair of intruders. "How did they even get up here? It's supposed to be a guarded tower."

As if she'd been called by the inquiry, Mrs. Shellhaven burst through the door. "What's going on? We heard shouting." She stopped just short of stepping on the posh man. "Watch it," she snapped at the guards who followed her as they failed to stop as quickly.

"Who let them in?" Harry asked. His voice was calm but deathly serious.

Mrs. Shellhaven scoffed, "I'm sure I don't understand your question." She turned to the guards and demanded, "Well, how could they have gotten past you?"

The two wizards in their matching grey security robes sputtered answers too low for Hannah to hear, but it was clear to her from their expressions that they had no idea what had happened. Shellhaven meanwhile appeared awfully composed considering what a colossal failure had presumably just occurred.

"Well get them out!" Shellhaven shouted at the guards, who set to work removing the intruders. Harry and her exchanged more words, but Hannah turned away. She still clutched her wand tightly and she couldn't bring herself to put it away.

"Hannah?" Neville said, his voice quiet.

She looked up at him but didn't say anything, afraid that her voice would betray how shaken she felt.

Neville took a careful step closer to her. "We're okay," he said. "It's alright, it's over."

Hannah nodded, swallowing thickly.

And then Susan was at her side, throwing her arm around Hannah's shoulders so quickly it made Hannah jump. "Are you alright?" Susan asked. "Were they near you?"

"I'm fine," Hannah said. It felt like a gift that her voice didn't crack. "Just startled." She looked at Neville, her eyes pleading.

"We were talking," he explained to Susan. "And then everything happened so fast, I barely saw any of it, basically just that flash."

Hannah nodded in agreement, sending a silent thank-you to him that she could only hope he picked up on.

He seemed to, smiling gently at her and returning a single nod of his head.

Susan, for her part, shook her head as anger rolled off of her. "It's despicable that they can't give them a moment of peace. Some of the things Hermione's told me about when we talk at work is just unbelievable." She looked at Neville again. "I'm saying all of this as if it doesn't happen to you all the time too, I'm so sorry. It's just awful."

Neville shrugged, "Honestly it's just when I'm with Harry and the Weasleys, they're hounded everywhere. It's better than it used to be, though."

"They're bloody scum," Susan said, practically spitting out the words.

Hannah smiled despite herself, looking between Susan and Neville. She saw a puzzled look on the latter's face and explained, "That's one of the meanest things I've ever heard her say."

Neville laughed as Susan argued, "It's true though!"

After a bit everyone settled back into their seats, attempting to enjoy the rest of the match, even if they were a bit on edge. Hannah had followed Susan back to sit together again. It didn't take long before Neville wordlessly took the seat on her other side.

By the end of the game Hannah felt better. It was exciting to watch Ginny play so well, to be in a space with all of these people again, everyone sharing the same focus, and that focus being something less than a life-or-death situation. There was joy to be found when she could forget herself for a few moments, here and there, and just feel the same thrill as her friends. Having Susan and Neville at her sides helped. Even though she felt the few odd stares here and there, presumably relating to Neville's relocation, it lent a sense of familiarity to this otherwise strange day.

And when the Harpies finally won that evening, in a closer-than-it-should-have-been-according-to-Susan final score of 410 to 230, Hannah tried to lose herself in the revelry of her friends. What was waiting for her later in the week never left her mind. That impending anniversary was an ever-present weight around her neck that night, her grief a shadow that followed in her wake. But for that night, just that one, she tried to ignore it. She wanted to enjoy the all too rare sensation of being surrounded by people she cared about. The universe had offered her this chance at a fun time, a reprieve of sorts before the worst days of each year, and Hannah couldn't overlook that. She tried desperately to make the most of it.

* * *

Author's Note: Not gonna lie, y'all, part of me really wants them to just shut up and kiss each other already, because honestly kissing is fun to write. But I tagged this as slow burn on AO3 and gosh dang it it's going to be no matter how long it takes me to write. (Also, let's be real, no way would these two sweethearts get out of their heads enough at this point to realize they love each other.)


End file.
